


Castle

by DeathByMidnightCinderella (DeathByOtome)



Category: Midnight Cinderella (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Death, F/M, Mild Gore, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Swearing, Torture, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 14:39:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 182,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11420091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathByOtome/pseuds/DeathByMidnightCinderella
Summary: Your life was stolen from you a long time ago. You have suffered the fires of hell on earth, and have spent years trapped in a prison of torture and death. But you’ve escaped, and you’ve toppled the monarchy that held you down. You, a commoner, have brought an ancient lineage to its knees and assumed control of your nation by choice of the people you freed.Thrown into the political world once more, your suffering is not over. One war has ended, but you are not safe. Your mind, your soul, and your heart, are all on the line now. Will Byron Wagner fight for you, or will he make you his enemy?





	1. Part I | Meeting the Demon.

**Author's Note:**

> Legend:
> 
> Vinessia - Your country's name. Sorry of you don’t like it, I initially used (c/n) to give the reader the choice, but then I realised that it looks a bit weird and sort of breaks the flow of the story, so I stopped using insert indicators like that.
> 
> Ryia – your mother’s name in the story. Sorry again, I had this as an option as well with other stuff, but I decided against it and changed it all halfway through. I think it’s a nice name, though!
> 
> The perspective in this story is unfocused, but for the most part remains with the reader. However, some of Byron’s thoughts will be mentioned as well.
> 
> The country of Norway is mentioned and referred to in this story, but I do not mean to offend anyone by doing this, and simply wanted to create the reader’s country by basing it on Norwegian culture. I fully respect and have great love for the country of Norway, and didn’t want to create a made-up language, so I decided to refer to a real one, like MidCin often does with French.
> 
> This story does not reflect my political views and is for entertainment purposes only.

**†** **♛** **†**

Stein Castle is quiet as usual, its servants going about their daily chores and the masses of its guards stationed to protect it at all costs. Stein itself is alive in its own way, with the citizens for the most part subdued and seemingly unenthusiastic. Really, they are quite content and happy, with the former king's capture confirmed and the country safer than ever.

Of course, they have one other main reason for feeling so secure.

The current monarch, King Byron Wagner.

The said ruler is currently sat at his desk in the castle's study, going through his paperwork in silence. The candles flicker periodically, casting shadows across the young king's face. His one exposed eye is hidden by his eyelashes as he keeps his gaze downwards, an eyepatch concealing his other. His blue-black hair shines in the candlelight, stray pieces falling down to cascade over his chiselled features. He wears his usual uniform, adorned with silver and gold attachments and buttons, and looks as regal as ever as he sits there.

By his side as usual is Albert Burckhardt, Byron's self-proclaimed right hand man. Clad in his black uniform, accented by brown gloves, a belt, and a shirt underneath, he stands tall and intimidating, his habitually irritated expression giving him an air of danger. A silver sword hangs low on his belt, and a simple pair of glasses sit atop his nose, partially hiding his dull, brown-grey eyes. Hair of chocolate tones is somewhat neat but also sharply cut, defining the shape of his face strongly.

Albert is reading through some letters and reports for Byron, evaluating their importance for his convenience. Despite Byron's repeated attempts to get him to sit down, the taller male remains standing, rather preferring to be up and ready should danger present itself.

"Humph." Albert scoffs, face showing clear disgust as his eyes skim over the words of a letter. "These nobles think they can write to you so formally and casually, as if they are close friends. What fools they are. All they want is money and a chance at royalty through the marriage of the daughters. Pathetic."

Byron doesn't respond to this, used to his old friend's grumbling and ranting. He continues to write for a few moments, but then abruptly halts, body stopping of all movements for a moment. He hears quick footsteps down the corridor and can immediately guess who it is. He raises his head slightly, glancing up at the door just as Alfred goes to ask what's wrong.

Before he can, however, there is a rapid set of knocks on the door, breaking the silence. His suspicions are confirmed by the pattern of the knocks, and he calls out quietly, "Come in."

Not a fraction of a second later, Nico Meier, the second claim to Byron's right hand man, enters the room, somewhat flushed and out of breath. He is holding a sheet of parchment in his hand and shuts the door with his free one, steadying his breathing before stepping forward.

Nico's hair is a strange mix of pale rose tones, the top part nearing white with one rebellious curl sticking up. Amber eyes are complimented by his single similarly-coloured earring, which dangles from his left ear and sways slightly with each of his laboured breaths. He wears a Stein uniform, having decided to come back to the country and stay there after his failure in Wysteria. It is black with silver decorations and maroon hints, and a sword not too different from Albert's, although slightly smaller, is dangling from his belt.

"King Byron," The young boy pants out, approaching the desk and taking no notice of Albert's glare. "We have a situation. Vinessia is in turmoil - the separatists have launched an attack on the king, and they're at war with each other. It's a civil conflict now, and it looks like the separatists are going to win. Nearly half of the military has turned on the monarchy, from what our sources know."

The breathless knight hands his king the parchment, placing a hand on his chest and leaning over slightly. He quickly starts grinning, though, which thoroughly angers an even more agitated Albert. "What are you smiling about, brat?"

Nico glances up, laughing lightly as he replies, "We've been waiting for this, remember? The monarchy in Vinessia has been corrupt and cruel for generations, and Byron himself said he would be glad to see them gone. This is a good thing! Don't be upset just because I'm happy about this, Al! Lighten up!"

Albert bares his teeth slightly, growling, "Do not presume that you can tell me what to do, you insolent little-"

"Al, enough." The words, which seems to come from Byron far too often due to the two knights' frequent spats, halt Albert mid-sentence. He glances at his king as his expression smoothens out once more, and Nico straightens up, doing the same. Byron looks over the parchment, which is a report on the situation, and calmly sets it down while the two watch him patiently.

"We will do nothing for now. There's no point in intervening - this is hardly our fight. However, should the monarchy gain the upper hand, we'll make sure to avoid assisting them in order to ensure the separatists' success. Any news from Vinessia comes straight to me." This receives two nods, and he sighs lightly, sitting back in his chair. "Do the people know?"

Nico shakes his head. "No. Our sources have kept the information to themselves, and we've made sure that it has come straight from Vinessia to here."

Byron gives a small nod, his eye still focused on the parchment. "Good." He is silent for a moment, and then he leans forward as he clasps his fingers together, speaking into them in a mumble. "Who is this '___ _____'? Are they of any importance to us?"

Nico's expression becomes passive while he answers, the words from the letter repeating in his mind. "Not as far as we know. The name has never come up anywhere else, and nothing clear is known about them. We'd guess that it's a man, but we don't even know the gender for sure, and we can't assume solely from the name. All we know is that they're leading the rebellion, they can fight like a demon and they're having no mercy on the monarchy and the remaining guards. Whoever they are, they're a force to be reckoned with."

There is complete silence for a few tense moments. Byron's expression remains blank as he thinks, and then he speaks, his voice low and strong like steel.

"Find Sid, and bring him here."

  
**†** **♛** **†**

  
The next day, the devil himself saunters into the study when he is called in by Byron. The latter looks up with a slightly raised eyebrow, seeing Albert stalk in behind him, glaring at the information-dealer's back. Nico follows behind, watching Sid with an untrusting look.

The existence of such people is common knowledge to the nobility, including King Byron, and they are allowed to work due to their occasional usefulness. Sid, granted, doesn't often do jobs for Byron, rather for the likes of Giles Christophe in Wysteria. However, he will work for anyone, should the price be right.

Sid's hair, a colour quite close to Byron's in its inky indigo nature, is tied back in a ponytail as usual. He wears his coat, with black fur trimming the neck area, and his strange buckle-up shirt is a washed-out indigo. A chain hangs from his belt, and several other buckles line his coat. A simple silver ring can be seen on his right hand's index finger, on top of his black glove.

He smirks upon seeing Byron and bows lowly, not breaking eye contact once. "My king, how may I be of service?"

The playfulness in his tone borders on being inappropriate considering the audience, and Albert's whole demeanour darkens in response. As he steps towards Sid, hand reaching for his sword, Byron holds up a hand to stop him. The knight obeys and sends the smirking male a dirty look, then moves to be at Byron's side once more.

Byron doesn't seem remotely phased by his manner of speech, responding simply, "I require your services. However, I also need you to travel to Vinessia in order to do this. I understand if you wish to reject this task."

Sid's expression falters slightly, and a frown works its way onto his face. "Vinessia? Why's that? The last time I checked, that place is hell on Earth."

Byron's face becomes much more serious, and he rests his head on his knuckles. He fixes Sid with an unmoving stare. "If you want to know why, you must swear an official agreement to silence regarding what I will tell you should you accept the work. I will not tell you if you will not follow through with the task. That is my condition."

Sid's expression turns to one of mild surprise for a brief moment, and then he chuckles darkly. "So, I have to agree without knowing what I'm getting myself into, huh?" He smirks, then his eyes narrow slightly. "Is there a high chance that I'll get killed?"

Albert answers this, voice dry and miffed. "Only if you're an idiot whilst you're over there. Something tells me you'll end up doing that rather quickly."

Sid's expression quickly shifts into one of anger. He sneers at Albert. "Thanks for that, Mr. I-have-a-stick-up-my-"

"Sid." Byron's voice stops him short, and he looks at the king once again. "Will you accept the task?"

The man ponders the offer for a few moments, twists his lips, and then inhales before heaving out a sigh. "Yeah, why not? I'm going to have to get my dagger before I go, though." Byron gestures to the seat opposite his own, and Sid sends Albert a sweet-as-poison smile before dropping into it.

"Okay, I agree. Tell me what I need to know."

**†** **♛** **†**

  
Two weeks pass after Sid is given his task, and little news comes from Vinessia other than there being a significant increase in territory held by the separatists. Byron waits patiently, getting on with his own duties and responsibilities as war rages in the nearby country.

And then, Sid returns.

He bursts into the office without knocking or asking to enter, which makes Albert growl at the information-dealer. However, Byron quickly notices the obvious blood stain on Sid's shirt, on his upper chest, and a shallow gash on his left cheek. It isn't bleeding, but it's red around the edges, and he can see pain in Sid's eyes when he speaks.

"Beg pardon for the intrusion, but I have a lot of information for you. And, I need to sit down. I'm about ready to pass out." Byron gestures to the chair in front of his desk once more, and Sid sits down with a pained groan, his hand flying up to the blood stain. "Ow."

He quickly removes his hand and reaches into his coat, pulling out a scroll of parchment and setting it on the table.

"Everything's written there briefly, but I have more to tell you. The separatists have won, and the king's had his head chopped, lopped off on the palace roof by ___ _____. All of the people siding with him are being hunted down, and the separatists are already starting a reconstruction project on the whole country."

He heaves in a breath before sighing out, "And I still don't know for sure if ___'s a guy. I couldn't tell."

Albert narrows his eyes. "You sound like you got close to them. Did you speak to them directly?"

Discomfort flashes across Sid's expression for a brief moment, and then he huffs, looking the knight in the eye. "No. They saved my life. I was scouting for information on the attack and got caught up in the offensive itself, when they stormed the castle - a group of the king's knights got me cornered, and I was handling them fine until one of the bastards snuck up on me. He slashed me when I turned around, and another one almost had my head, but someone stopped them."

Sid frowns slightly. "It was really gruesome. They jumped on the knight's back and slit his throat, then got off him and threw him into another knight's sword as they went for us. I heard them all shouting, saying, "It's ___.". I sort of didn't believe it, but as we kept fighting, they were constantly trying to decide on whether they should kill them or not. Before they could, ___ and I took them down.”

He makes a face. “They were like something straight out of hell. I lost my cool for a second when I saw the way they fought. It was weird. They'd been in the castle first, then randomly appeared outside again, but as soon as the guards were dead, they went back in.”

Albert speaks again, sounding irritated. "Did you see any features? What did they look like?"

Sid makes a face. "Jack squat. They had armour covering everything. I only saw their eyes for a moment, but they were unnerving to say the least. I've never seen that much fire and determination in a person before." He winces and pushes himself up, adding, "I think they're going to close the country for a few days, then open it again when it's stable, from what I've heard. That's about all I've got."

Byron has been scanning over the parchment and listening attentively whilst Sid has been talking, and now he nods, looking satisfied. "This is a good development. You've done your job well, Sid. Thank you. If you'd like to remain in the palace while your wound heals, it can be arranged. There will be no cost, and we will sort out your payment now."

Sid nods tiredly, forcing a grin onto his face. "Well, I've gotta do my best for the king, right?" That is met with a raised eyebrow from Byron and a scowl from Albert. He rolls his eyes. "Okay, I get it. I'll go now." He pushes himself to his feet and groans slightly, hand once again pressing against his chest. He makes his way to the door while Byron turns to Albert, ordering him,

"Show him to one of the guest rooms and see that he is given a change of clothes, should he want them, and that his wounds are tended to. Report back to me afterwards, and I will have his payment ready. Behave." Albert's eyebrow twitches at the last one-word sentence, but he bows and places his gloved hand over his heart, replying,

"I will see to it, your Majesty." He then makes his way to Sid, who has watched the conversation with mild amusement. "Follow me. Don't lag behind."

Sid smirks again. "One more thing. The people have decided in a vote that ___ _____ will become the new leader of Vinessia, and will represent it from now on. They also made it explicitly clear that they are not a monarch, and should not be thought of or referred to as one."

Byron's pupil widens slightly at this, and Sid's smirk stretches into a grin. "Good day, King Byron." He then bows in the same manner as Albert did, swivels around and leaves the room.

Albert closes the door after casting Byron a concerned look, and the king is left in silence. He remains still for a few heartbeats, then sits back and rests his chin on his hand, glancing out of the window.

"The leader of a rebellion and a destroyer of the monarchy, now ruling over the country?" He murmurs, eye twinkling with interest. Nico smiles, having been stood to the side the whole time. "I'm interested to meet you, ___ _____."

 

**†** **♛** **†**

 

Several weeks and some discussions with Protea, Laurelia and Wysteria later, Stein has agreed to hold a ball to commemorate the new ruler of Vinessia. It's an expected action, of course; it's only natural for the leaders of nearby nations to want to meet a new ruler, and this is certainly no ordinary new king, queen, princess or prince.

This is a commoner, from what sources say, and the leader of a self-built army, who was a main driving force in the revolution against the monarchy. It is also the killer of the previous king, and a person whose face, gender and personality itself is completely unknown to anyone other than the citizens of Vinessia.

Vinessia accepted the offer and responded with a simple letter, telling Stein that ___ _____ would attend, granted with a group of knights should anything... well, go wrong. Byron was rather pleased with this, having developed a certain curiosity when it comes to the newly instated leader. He made sure to offer aid to the country, due to the retractions of several trades in response to the king's death, and this was replied to with a simple,

"Vinessia appreciates the support you are offering, and we will accept help should we need it. However, we will do our best to prosper without inconveniencing others, and will try to make our country stronger in order to avoid this."

Byron actually smiled at the letter, finding the determination of Vinessia to be admirable and mildly amusing.

Now, all he has to do is wait for the ball, and he will finally meet ___ _____.

 

**†** **♛** **†**

  
_It's time._

Byron stands in the ballroom of the Stein Castle, clad in his uniform. He is on the raised platform of the ballroom, which looks over the whole room in the form of an indoor balcony.

He watches as the former Princess Elect of Wysteria and her chosen suitor, a member of the nobility, stand at the side of the ballroom, talking contentedly as king and queen. Many of the people stood around them are known to him, such as the Duke of Howard and the queen's advisor, Giles Christophe. The Wysterian Royal Guard has presented itself and is stationed around the room with the other knights of Protea, Laurelia, and Stein, with Wysteria's captain, Alyn Crawford, hovering close to his king and queen.

Several nobles from Wysteria have also showed, as they are required to do, and are mixing well with the nobles of the other countries. Byron pauses for a moment as he sees a gaggle of women staring at Leo Crawford, a bureaucrat that has attended several of the now more frequent meetings between Wysteria and Stein. Seeing the fair-haired man pointedly ignoring the attention and speaking with other bureaucrats, he smiles inwardly at the sight, grateful for some peace and co-operation between the nations. Breaking away from his thoughts, he glances at Albert from the side.

"What time is it?" He asks, watching the male pull out a pocket watch and peer at the face.

"Quarter to six, your Majesty." The ball officially starts at six, even though the other countries arrived earlier to make sure they would be able to see the new country's representative when they arrive.

____ _____ will be here soon._

Byron feels almost excited, like a child becoming giddy over a new toy. He blames it on having such a hatred for the former king of Vinessia and yearning to meet the person responsible for his death.

No longer than three minutes later, the doors to the ballroom, below and directly in front of Byron, open a fraction. A guard comes in and looks up to the king, then nods as instructed earlier.

_They're here._

Byron returns the nod and calmly makes his way down the right side of the stairs, hearing Albert and Nico following obediently. He stops in the centre of the floor between the stairs, and the movement of the young but powerful monarch draws the attention of the other people, quickly quietening their conversations.

Byron watches, stone-faced, as the guard enters again, the doors shutting behind him. "May I introduce, the new leader of Vinessia and its knights."

The guard moves out of the way of the doors, and they are then swung open by two others from the other side, finally revealing you to the other countries for the very first time.

Byron's breath catches in his throat slightly, although he doesn't allow his surprise to show. Gasps sound around the room. Murmurs rise from the nobility.

_Here you are._

The leader of Vinessia is, quite shockingly to most, a woman. Your features and figure show that clearly, with your sharp cheekbones, delicate set and feminine shape. Strong yet still beautiful eyes are complimented by shiny locks, which are styled in a simple but natural loose look. They frame your face and accentuate your lips without exaggerating them, creating a picture of unmovable, youthful power.

Your uniform is nothing to be scoffed at either, with the jacket black as death itself with the fabric across your torso fastening on your both sides. Silver buttons and clips keep it in place and break up the darkness, as does the silver clasp of the belt around the waist. The lower part of the jacket is higher at the top, stopping just at your hips, before flowing out and stopping mid-thigh at the back. Your legs are covered by black, tight-fitting trousers, which then lead down to your knee-high hunting boots.

Byron sees the nobility eyeing the trousers, some in shock, some approval, and some disgust. The boots are also black, completing the outfit fittingly.

The combination of you being a female, wearing clothes that are seen as men's attire, and now leading a country single-handedly comes as quite a surprise to many in the room. Looks are shared, whispers erupt, and several people regard you with sneers.

You don't react whatsoever to all of this, and, as if on some sort of silent cue, you start to move. A troop of knights, dressed in similar uniforms with less decorations, follow you, every fine detail of the entrance having been made perfect.

Their footsteps are perfectly in sync with yours. They file into the ballroom, in two immaculate and separate columns. It's like music; you all march in, the rhythm of your approach resonating through the room and sending shivers down the spines of those around you. The knights' expressions are carbon copies of yours, completely stoic and emotionless.

As the last two knights come in, they break away from the tight formation to be stood at the edges of the room. The next pair do the same while you advance, sounding the drums of death. You head straight for Byron. Even as your knights leave you, your aura of pure danger and power doesn't lessen. If anything, it strengthens, your strides becoming more purposeful when you close in.

At long last, the knights are all stationed around the room. You are perhaps six foot away from Byron now and stop, head held high. The latter detects no hint of fear or insecurity in you, and can't see any cracks in your mask.

"Thank you for coming, General ___ _____. Stein, along with Protea, Laurelia and Wysteria, welcome you and are looking forward to working with Vinessia, in what will hopefully be a long-term, region-wide alliance. We congratulate your strength and skill, and the achievements of both yourself and your comrades." The words roll from Byron's tongue easily, he having memorised them several days ago.

Your expression doesn't change, but you lower your head and bow respectfully, one arm against your back and your other hand against your heart. You then rise, speaking for the first time. "Thank you. We too are eagerly anticipating democratic relations with Stein, Protea, Laurelia and Wysteria, as well as the other nations, and hope that we can finally be a benefit to this region."

Byron nods, allowing himself to give you a small smile. "I'm sure that Vinessia will most definitely be a positive influence on our countries, and we all hope to see it prosper in the coming years."

And then, Byron decides to let the other kingdoms know that this is not just formality.

He has taken a serious liking to you.

And he knows that the other countries are going to need you in the future. His instincts have never failed him, so he listens to them.

Doing something he has never done for another leader in his life, he pushes his cape behind him, lowering himself onto one knee in a clear, irrefutable show of respect.

Loud gasps and several shouts sound around the ballroom at the action, but Byron takes no notice, his eye rolling to the side. He watches Albert do the same after a second’s hesitation. Nico, on his other flank, follows, lowering himself down. The other Stein guards pause for a moment, then copy the stance.

The King and Queen of Wysteria glance at each other before bowing and curtseying, prompting the other Wysterians to do the same. The King of Laurelia chuckles, seemingly amused by the whole thing, but he then smiles approvingly and bows as well. The nobility of Protea seem much less willing, and the Prime Minister watches this happen with a mildly disgusted look. He sends a subtle glare at you, you having not responded to the sudden wave of action. You purse your lips.

Not a second later, you have mimicked Byron, your own knights doing the exact same thing. You murmur lowly while you glance up at him, "We too hope for that. We appreciate your kindness."

He nods and rises up once more, watching you do the same. The other occupants of the room stand, and Byron speaks once more, louder now. "Let the ball commence."

Servants and other staff quickly come out at that. Music is played from the front of the ballroom, and muted chatter ripples from the nobility. The other leaders head your way, the king and queen of Wysteria and the king of Laurelia seeming interested and almost excited, whilst the Prime Minister of Protea looks disdainful.

The Queen of Wysteria goes to introduce herself first, beaming at you. "Hello! It's an honour to meet you, ah..." She stops herself, then looks away awkwardly before glancing back at you. "Beg pardon. Just saying your name seems rude. What do you prefer to be referred to as?"

You raise an eyebrow, responding quickly. "Just ___ is fine, or General ___ if you don't feel comfortable solely using my name. However, I do not wish to have a royal title used to identify myself, so if you could avoid that, I'd appreciate it."

She seems a bit flushed but nods anyway, replying, "Ah, I see. It's a great honour to meet you, ___. I have a very deep respect for you, and I wish you the best with Vinessia.”

A tiny, tiny smile pulls at your lips, but even that seems forced. "Thank you."

The King of Wysteria nods, smiling brightly at you. "I also wish you happiness with your country, and I know you will become a fine leader.”

You nod again, silent this time. The King of Laurelia decides to speak. "I see great potential in you, and I'm excited to be working with you and your country more closely now. May you have the best of luck."

"Thank you." Your expression relaxes a little as you add, "I hear Laurelia is famous for its agriculture. Perhaps in the future-"

A scoff from your right stops you mid-sentence, and you turn around to see the Prime Minister of Protea watching you with a less-than-pleased expression. "Pardon the interruption, but if you have simply heard of Laurelia's strengths and don't know them for certain, how will you possibly run a country? You're barely an adult-"

Byron steps in now, his low voice cutting the king's words off like they are nothing but the cries of a child throwing a tantrum. "If you would, I would like to keep this ball as peaceful as possible. I have no issue with you asking questions, but do it politely. I will not have Stein known for hosting unpleasant balls."

The Prime Minister clenches his jaw, correcting himself, "Apologies. I was out of line." He stares at you once more, asking, "Would you be willing to tell us how much you know of the other countries in this region?"

A second of silence passes. Very swiftly, a barely-existent, yet so unnerving that it's soul-destroying, glare slips onto your face. Your answer rather calmly, keeping your gaze on the Prime Minister. "I think your ivory tower would quake at the depth of knowledge I have of this region, and the world outside it. I would not advise you to underestimate me, nor any of the people of Vinessia."

The Prime Minister, now flustered and furious, lets out a scoff before spinning on his heel and stalking away from you. You watch him go with a passive expression, then turn your eyes to Byron. "I apologise for that, King Byron. It seems that I have upset the Prime Minister."

Byron simply nods, quite impressed with how you handled your first and quickly-delivered criticism. He has a disliking for the Prime Minister of Protea, as well as some disdain toward the King of Protea, although the country is strong and a beneficial ally in the instance of war. So, this is somewhat entertaining to him.

The ball continues with the leaders talking amongst themselves and the nobility failing to mix with each other, for the most part. Mid-way, the dance is due to start, but Byron isn't quite sure how to proceed; naturally, it would be expected that the new leader would dance with a member of their own nobility or one of the leaders, but with your situation of being dressed in masculine clothes and not quite acting as anticipated, it has thrown the tradition off.

Of course, upon realising this, Byron turns to Nico and Albert, reaching the back of the ballroom. "It seems that we have a problem. I don't think this dance is going to happen, and it's most likely going to stir up trouble amongst the nobles."

Albert scowls, narrowing his eyes at your form as he watches you. "She should be prepared to dance. She is a leader, and must be aware of the traditions that come with such a position."

Nico tilts his head to the side, also watching you with a small frown. "I don't know. Something tells me she's going to change things. I don't think she's going to just change who she is to make other people happy. If she was that type of person, she wouldn't have fought and killed for her country. She wouldn't be wearing what she is now. I doubt that she's going to bow down and make the nobility happy, regardless of the consequences."

His face becomes thoughtful now, and he lets out a light laugh. "Then again, she could decide to bend a little." His amber eyes drift up to Byron's face. "Would you like me to ask her, and see what she wants to do? I'll make it quick and simple!"

Ignoring Albert's irritated scoff from the side, Byron continues to study you for a moment, then nods. "Make it discreet. Be careful of what you say."

Nico bows, hand over his heart and a dazzling grin on his face. "As you wish, King Byron!"

Before Albert can tell him to not do anything stupid, he has quite literally bounced over to where you are, excitement and curiosity filling his mind. You are conversing with one of your knights, who, along with another, have slightly different uniforms and seem to be acting more like bodyguards to you. You stop, however, and shift your gaze to Nico when he approaches.

He beams upon reaching you, lowering his head respectfully and noticing that he's taller than you. He then lifts it, speaking politely but in a friendly manner. "Pardon the interruption, General ___. King Byron would like to know if you are planning on participating in a dance tonight, as it is tradition when new leaders are introduced."

You keep your orbs on him, the look burning into his soul, before responding with, "With whom would I be dancing, might I ask?"

You don't seem outwardly negative about dancing, or if you are, you aren't making it obvious. Nico blanches for a second, realising that he wasn't quite prepared for such a question. However, he quickly gathers his thoughts and answers, "Well, it's up to you, milady. It could be a member of the nobility, or even one of the other leaders should they agree to it."

Barely a microsecond passes before you sigh out, "I don't care for dancing, but if it'll put the nobility to rest, then I shall do it. However, I will not myself seek out a partner."

Satisfied with this, he nods and gives you a wide smile. "As you wish, milady. Thank you!"

He quickly bows and almost skips back to Byron, not at all deterred by the intense stare of his king when it focuses on him. "She'll dance, but she said she won't find a partner herself. I don't think she really wants to dance, but she's willing if it'll settle the nobles down."

Byron processes this for a second, eyes narrowing. Behind him, Albert mutters something about you being demanding and rude, but he takes no notice.

His mind has given way to curious confusion. He realises something; you are willing to dance, insinuating that you know how. Unless the culture and upraising of people in Vinessia is completely different to the other kingdoms, it means that you must have had some way to learn to dance. This would then mean that you have had prolonged contact with a member of the nobility, despite the confirmed fact that you were born a commoner and remain one now.

Well, in your eyes, you are. This makes little sense to the young ruler.

His heart aches for a fraction of a second, the sensation causing a small frown onto the king's face. His eye tracks your movements closely.

He doubts that many of the nobility will want to dance with you, purely out of insecurity created by your appearance, and that the ones who do will probably be acting on the wrong reasons. He ponders this for a few moments, wondering who should dance with you, or if he should just let it go and leave you to deal with the aftermath of the decision yourself.

Nico's smile has been getting gradually wider while Byron stares at you, and now he chirps out, more than a little amused by his king's out-of-the-ordinary actions, "Why don't you dance with her, King Byron? You know how to waltz, right?"

"Why would I do that?" Byron replies automatically, the words leaving his mouth without him even thinking about them.

"Because it would satisfy the nobility, make her job a little easier, and you might be able to get to know her better. It's a win for everyone!" Nico's words register, and the thought of getting to know you better make the strings of Byron's heart to twist, causing him to be somewhat confused again.

"How would getting to know her benefit me?" Nico blinks in surprise at the short question, then frowns slightly. He peers at Byron.

"Because, from the way you've been acting all evening, ___'s provoked something in you that I've never seen before. You defended her earlier, from the Prime Minister of Protea, after speaking only once. You've had your eyes on her since the ball started, and you've got that look about you that says you're confused with your feelings, but also that you're deeply interested and want something."

Byron is, to put it simply, taken aback by Nico's precise analysis of the situation. He keeps his face composed while he goes through each word his knight said, and the realisation of the strangeness of his actions makes him pause.

Albert, having reached his limit, snarls at his younger companion. "How dare you speak about him as though you-"

He is, once again, cut off by Byron. "Enough." The word is spoken softly, but it carries a thousand times more weight and authority than its target. He quickly makes his decision, hesitant yet somehow sure about the course of action he will take. "I will dance with her."

Albert's expression is almost comical, a look of pure and utter shock. Nico giggles at it from the side, trying to hide his laughter from the nobles. Nonetheless, he nods. "I'll see to it, King Byron."

Nico returns to you, and you raise an eyebrow, seeing him come over for a second time.

"King Byron would like to know if you would have the first dance with him, General ___."

Your body goes still for a several beats of silence, your expression softening beautifully. You blink before you glance at Byron, the latter staring back just as intently. Your lips press into a line, and then you nod. "Alright," You murmur, voice now gentler and even quieter, if possible. "I accept."

Nico bobs his head with a grin, asking, "Is the waltz alright, milady?"

You nod silently, casting your eyes away as you do. Slightly surprised by your sudden change of attitude and body language, Nico blinks, but then quickly smiles once more. He takes his leave, returning to Byron.

"She accepts, King Byron! You'll be dancing with the waltz with her. Shall I go and inform the musicians?" Byron thinks for a brief moment, then nods. Nico goes on his way, leaving Byron and Albert stood in silence for a brief moment. The latter shakes his head, looking more than a little miffed.

Nico quickly tells the musicians to change the music to something appropriate for a waltz, and when this has been done, he gives Byron a nod from across the room.

Byron inhales upon seeing the gesture, then tries to calm his slightly jittery nerves. He has never particularly like dancing, or not in front of others, at least. However, a small part of him is almost looking forward to it; it wants to do exactly as Nico said, to get closer to you and find out more about you.

_I'm changing. She's brought something out in me. How strange._

Deciding that it's now or never, Byron approaches you calmly, feeling Albert's familiar presence behind him. Your arms, having crossed themselves at some point, now unwind themselves from around your chest and are lowered to your sides. You fix Byron with an even stare as he approaches, although your expression seems guarded, and your body is rigid while you stand there.

The room goes deathly silent when the music shifts and Byron stops in front of you, but he proceeds, holding his hand out with his palm facing upwards. "May I have this dance?"

You don't outwardly react to this, other than nodding and placing your hand in his. He is almost comically gentle as he guides you to the centre of the room, ignoring the stares boring into him and instead readying himself for the dance. He also notices that he's actually enjoying the feeling of your gloved fingers resting in his, so delicate and timid in his own.

With a shared glance and a nod, he places a hand on your back, under your cape. You place your free hand on his shoulder, both of you assuming the correct stances almost in sync. Rather than having your backs leaned away from each other, though, you stand straight. You keep your bodies aligned, gazes trained on the other’s face.

With a quick, graceful step, he leads you into the dance.

He watches you closely, keeping his eye trained on your face but also watching your body while you move. The world blurs and swirls around him. You follow the rules to the finest point, not one part of it inaccurate or messy. He finds himself even more confused at the odd look you're giving him when he spins you, then brings you close once again. His heart pulses faster in his chest at the feeling of your body almost touching his, the warmth of your skin even through the gloves you both wear.

The sight of you two is a little bizarre; so accustomed to a male dancing with a female, dressed in their "correct" clothing and the female usually looking like a fragile doll, everything about this is off. Your capes swirl together, seeming to follow and chase after each other. You both seem to almost drift to the music.

Considering the fact that you only met each other maybe an hour or so ago, you seem to be perfectly timed with one another, like a string of fate has sewn your lives in such a fashion that you would meet now. You are equal; there is an unnatural, constant respect that flows between you both, something that has never and should never happen between leaders. Byron has never been so kind to anyone, apart from two people in the world, and he’s still distant from them anyway.

For all the anger you feel towards the royals, you are at ease right now. Something clicks with this - you feel... safe. For once in your life, someone other than yourself has been able to make you feel secure. It's exhilarating and frightening and nonsensical all at once, and you are content to be there with this young king, who handles you like a glass doll.

Soon, perhaps too soon, the lull of sound comes to a slow end, and your dance dies with it. You calmly remove your hand from his shoulder and he does the same with your waist, releasing your other hand straight after. You take a step back and nod respectfully, earning a mimicked nod in return. Applause sounds from around the room, the nobles apparently satisfied for now. It's all a dull roar to you two, young leaders taking on their fake praise and secret scorn together.

Without a single word to each other, you return to your places. The ball goes on, other couples and pairs dancing around the room as the guards watch closely. Glances are shared between the leaders, mostly yourself, Byron and the Prime Minister of Protea, the latter's looks being glares more often than not. Time seems to fade away as the sun sets, lighting the sky up like fire before it ripples out into an indigo ocean.

Having stayed for more than long enough, you decide to take your leave, the likes of the Wysterian party having left already. You approach Byron with an unreadable expression, but your eyes convey clear respect and mutuality. "King Byron," You start. "Thank you for the opportunity for Vinessia to begin with its integration with the other nations. We very much appreciate your acceptance of our country."

Both impressed and further confused by your formal choice of words, and deeming that you are almost certainly not of common birth, Byron simply nods. "Of course. We greatly anticipate Vinessia's revival and are looking forward to working with you in the near future."

You give a nod back, responding, "We will do our very best to right the wrongs of our past. However, for now, I think it's time for us to take our leave. We have much to do for the next few months."

"Certainly." Byron agrees. "Let us meet again, and we can discuss an alliance between our countries."

"Most definitely." A strange, almost pained look passes through your eyes for the tiniest fraction of a moment, but Byron doesn't notice it. "Until then, King Byron."

"Until then, General ___."

With a low, respectful bow that your bodyguards mimic, you incline your head and then turn around in a graceful swivel, proceeding to head towards the doors. Your knights move from their posts, falling into step behind you, and the drums sound again while you make your way past everyone in the room. The room quietens when you reach the doors, but this does nothing to your pace. They are opened, and you make your way out without a single look back.

And then, the doors are shut and the ball resumes. Byron finds himself exhaling slowly, internally frowning at the twisting of his chest. Nico, having hovered around him like Albert, steps forward to be closer and asks, "Is something the matter, King Byron?"

Byron is silent for a brief moment, deliberating his answer. Then, he shakes his head so briefly that the motion is almost impossible to see. "No," He murmurs softly. "Everything is fine."

Nico blinks at his king, watches him for a moment, then nods. "Hmm..." He hums, gazing back at the ballroom before centring his stare on the doors. "General ___ was very interesting, wasn't she? She's so different!"

Byron nods, more obviously this time, without even thinking. "Yes, she was." He agrees, and then his voice lowers as he mutters, "But I feel as though we don't know everything we need to yet."

Albert speaks up now, his tone cautious. "How so? Is she a threat?"

Nico laughs lightly, glancing back at his companion. "Come on, Al! I know can be an idiot sometimes, but didn't you see it? She's not a danger, but I don't think the claims of her being of common birth are exactly true." Seeing Albert's permanent frown deepen, he grins, asking, "What did she do earlier?"

Albert pauses for a moment, then scowls and snaps, "She danced with King Byron, dimwit. Do not treat me as though I am incompetent."

Nico ignores the insult, continuing, "And what sort of people are taught how to dance, the waltz no less?"

Albert seems to see the point Nico is making now, and he stops to think for a moment. Then, he raises an eyebrow. "She could've been taught during the time between the abolition of the monarchy and now. The Queen of Wysteria was taught in mere days."

Nico hums again, tilting his head. "That's true. But still, she wasn't just dancing; she was _good_ at it. There were no mistakes and she was confident in her abilities. She shrugged it off as if it was a trivial matter to her. Not many newly-instituted leaders can do that as well as she did when they aren't used to this world."

Byron chimes in now, and the two Steiners pause to listen to him. "Her speech was not typical of townspeople. It was sure and advanced for the most part, as well as immaculately polite, even when she spited the Prime Minister of Protea for his criticism."

He narrows his eye, glancing out of the high windows at the stars. "But she was most definitely bitter and intolerant of the upper classes. She referred to the Prime Minister as sitting on an ivory tower, which is generally something said by people who dislike the rich and powerful."

Nico nods, expression becoming more neutral. "She's strange. I wonder why she acts the way she does, so cold and dispassionate; again, that's generally more of an upper class trait."

Byron lets out a breath, then turns and makes his way towards the stairs, cape fluttering around him like ink.

"Only time will tell."

But then his expression becomes dark as his steps quicken, lips pressing into a thin line.

"I will learn why she is who she is,"

Your face flashes through his mind's eye, shifting and morphing before stilling, and then shattering into billions of pieces.

"And I will find out why I have seen her before."

 

**†** **♛** **†**

 

Exactly one month later, the regions receive word from Vinessia.

Its borders are now open and the country is now accessible to anyone, but strict entry tests and procedures have been introduced to keep its people safe. The letter informs them that, if possible, it would like a meeting to be held with each of the leaders to discuss trades. Stein, Laurelia and Wysteria accept the offer quickly, eager to learn more about the country, but Protea declines on the grounds of being untrusting of the nation.

Regardless, the meeting is scheduled, and escorts are prepared to take the leaders into the country. You are there in your uniform, at the border connected to Stein and Wysteria, and wait patiently for them to arrive. It is silent as you stand there, knights patrolling the territorial fringes of Vinessia, until you hear the sound of a carriage approaching.

You watch, eyes narrowed, as it comes into view, surrounded by a troop of knights on horseback. It stops when one of your knights holds up a hand to it, and then you approach the side when the coachman opens the door. The King and Queen of Wysteria step out, and both of them smile brightly upon seeing you.

"Welcome. You will be riding in a separate carriage to the meeting. However, if it's no trouble, we would prefer to wait for all of the leaders to be present before making our way there." You greet them coolly and professionally, and they share a glance, then nod together.

"Of course!" She responds, beaming at you. "Will our knights be coming with us?"

You nod, eyeing the Wysterian Royal Guard Captain. "Yes. They can ride alongside the carriage, as long as they cause no disruption to the people."

The captain is no other than Alyn Crawford, brother of the flirty aristocrat Leo Crawford. With deep crimson hair and eyes, clad in the Wysterian Royal Guard uniform and muscles tense, he stares back at you. Your mind quickly makes a judgement on him. You quickly take in the decorations across his uniform, the pristine condition of his pearl white armour, and the cape that is draped over his left shoulder, matching his hair and eyes in shade.

"They'll cause no problems, I assure you." He replies evenly, now having dismounted his horse to stand near the king and queen.

You simply raise an eyebrow and turn to one of your knights, calling over, "Can you bring the carriage around?"

He nods and goes off to get it, sitting still just behind the line of the border, where a large gate and a forest separates the country from Stein. You gaze around you while it is driven through the gate and to the monarchs, then step back to let coachman helps them inside. You signal to him to take them inside the border and wait, and he does so obediently.

Maybe five minutes later, the King of Laurelia arrives, also surrounded by a collection of knights. He steps out and holds his hand out for you to shake. "Hello again. I'm glad that we are able to discuss trades between us so soon after the war."

You shake his hand lightly before letting go, nodding respectfully. "As are we. You'll be riding in one of our carriages to the meeting, and we will be departing when King Byron arrives."

He chuckles, nodding cheerily. "Good, good! Lead on, then."

You have the next carriage brought over and taken to the checkpoint, then sigh and wait for the last guest to arrive. No longer than two minutes later, the young monarch rolls in, a unit of knights and guards making a protective circle around the carriage. You feel your two best friends, who also act as bodyguards that you really don't need, come up close to you. They don't quite trust Byron yet.

When the carriage comes to a halt, Byron gets out and strides over to you confidently. "General ___," He starts. "I appreciate this opportunity to bring our countries closer and expand our trades."

You nod. "We're very glad to develop relations between our nations, and we're grateful that Stein is allowing us to do this." He nods back. "You'll be riding in one of our carriages, if you don't mind, as we mentioned in the letter."

"It's no problem. I understand why it's necessary." He responds. Once again, the last carriage comes over and he gets in, and is then driven to the others.

Heaving out a breath, you go through the gate and nod to the knights, shouting, "Close the gates! Resume normal patrols!"

They do as they are told, and you walk over to your horse, ignoring the stares you are given by the many knights of the other countries. You jump on and your own troop does the same, forming a spearhead formation at the top and bottom of the procession. You turn back to the drivers and motion for them to follow you.

The drive up to the meeting is mostly silent, with the Steiners at the front, the Wysterians in the middle, and the Laurelians at the back. Vinessia is very much a city of stone, but there is nature everywhere, with trees and plants dominating the landscape.

You hear the bickering of Byron's two bodyguards every so often, with the younger one teasing and the older one retorting angrily. Your own bodyguards mutter to each other about them, and you see them sending the Steiners looks every so often, making sure they're not acting out of line.

"Stop it. You're being idiots; they're not going to do anything." You snap at them, and they immediately quieten down. It's not because you lead the country, but the army - you are their general, and they take orders from you regardless of you being a representative of the nation or not.

Soon, the location of the meeting comes into sight. It's a large, otherwise unoccupied mansion in the northeast of the country, in a strategically advantaged position in a large clearing of the forest. You exhale as you reach it, raising your hand to gesture that the drivers need to slow down. They do so, and when you come to a stop in front of the mansion, you dismount your horse before approaching the doors.

Two guards have been stationed there already, and now you nod to them. "Unlock the doors."

They do this as the leaders emerge from the carriages, and you motion for them to follow you. Your knights guard them from behind. "If you'll all come with me, we'll be holding the meeting inside."

It takes several minutes to get everyone sat down, but eventually the five leaders, yourself included, are seated inside the hall. Food and drinks have been prepared for them all, a selection of delicacies that, after some research, seem to be favoured by the upper classes in their nations.

"So, we are here to discuss trades between our countries. If anyone has anything in particular that they would like to start with, you are welcome to do so." You start, sitting back in your chair at the table.

"I do." Byron's deep voice resonates out from your right, and you glance over at him. "I would like to propose a trade in stonework between Stein and Vinessia. I have been told that you specialise in masonry."

That's a good start; you had been hoping for a deal in stonework. "Stonework is a craft that we are very proud of, and we would be more than happy to accept this offer. Figures can be worked out at a later date, or at some point today, but we definitely agree to this proposal."

He lets a tiny, tiny smile cross over his lips for a second. "Good. Thank you."

And so it goes on like this for the best part of two hours, as you all decide on trade routes and chains. You watch as new deals are made, old ones are altered or terminated, and how the leaders interact with each other. It's interesting to you, to see another side of the upper classes, and to speak to them personally.

It's interesting to Byron, as well. It helps him to understand the way people work, particularly you. When he's not negotiating with one of the others, he is usually glancing at you periodically, trying to figure you out. You're still a puzzle to him, a blank piece of paper with no past and only the present to base a future upon.

And he decides to change that.

He waits until each of the leaders seem happy with their trades, noticing that you have written a long list of new trades that will be set up. He also observes that you write in cursive, and that only makes him more certain that his suspicions are correct.

"General ___," He draws your attention, and you glance up at him from your list. "I believe you were the first to prepare and strategise for the siege against the former king." You give a curt nod, eyes fixed on his. "How did you manage such a feat? I've been told that the former king had anyone who plotted against him executed."

You pause for a brief moment, shifting in your chair. When you answer, it’s painfully blunt and honest. "He thought I was dead."

The Queen of Wysteria lets out a gasp at that, and even the King of Laurelia's expression becomes sombre. Byron doesn't seem particularly surprised, only raising an eyebrow. "Oh?" He asks. "And was that planned?"

You stare at him for a moment, completely still, before shaking your head. "No. It was in no way planned."

Byron's eye narrows slightly at that. "How did it happen, then?"

The King of Wysteria speaks up now, seconding, "I admit, General ___, that I'm quite curious as to who you are. We know very little about you other than the fact that you led the rebellion. Our stories are, for the most part, known. Would you perhaps tell us about yourself?"

Your eyes graze over the leaders slowly, carefully. Then, you rest your head on your knuckles and lower your gaze to the table, taking a moment to think and decide. Finally, you reply softly. "I'd rather not. I apologise." You shake your head ever so slightly, a tired look passing over your features. "I'm not quite ready for people to know, I'm afraid."

The Queen of Wysteria quickly jumps in, seeing your discomfort and wanting to avoid any conflict. "Worry not! We understand! That's perfectly fine!"

You just nod at that, and the meeting is soon concluded, with all of the trades having been set up without an issue.

The leaders are driven back to the border, where their own carriages are waiting for them. You dismount your horse as they, and their knights, prepare to leave. You give and receive the typical pleasantries and goodbyes for each of the leaders, then watch them fade away into the distance and out of sight once more.

You stand at the gate, alone again.


	2. Part II | Barely Peaceful.

**†** **♛** **†**

Winter has arrived, and it's fighting harder than ever before.

Byron's breath sighs out of him, the frosty air creating a cloud of air in front of his face. Wisps of snow dance around his face while he sits atop his horse, the blanketed ground crunching under its feet as it trots along at a constant speed. The chill rattles through his bones, and he suppresses a shiver. He looks around, taking in the sight of the land around him.

He is on a patrol with a group of his knights flanking him, around the fringes of Stein, towards the border of Vinessia. It's known that people can often be hurt or disoriented in the snow, and so he is making sure that there is no one out who needs help. Of course, it's also to check that there are no groups hanging around the borders who shouldn't be there.

Byron's eye narrows when he turns his head slightly, seeing the tip of a mountain some way away, mostly obscured by the snow and mist created by the wind. His heart stutters slightly, his mind calculating that there shouldn't be any mountains on the route that they have taken; the only mountains near Stein are on the northeast, and they are currently scouting the Northwest Territory.

"Your Majesty?" Albert's voice breaks him out of his reverie, and his gaze quickly snaps to the knight's face, watching him with his naturally intense stare. "Is something wrong?"

Byron thinks for a moment, debating internally whether or not to tell him the issue. Coming to the conclusion that keeping his troops in the dark will be detrimental to the patrol, he glances back to the mountain, murmuring just loud enough for Albert to hear, "We're off course."

He glances back just as Albert goes still in his place atop his horse, and then he holds his hand up, calling to the others, "Stop! Everyone halt!"

The other knights bring their horses to an abrupt stop, and several murmurs rise from the rear of the formation. Albert sends them a sharp look, and they quieten immediately, knowing that the commander won't take any disrespect from them. "We've gone off course! Henner, come here!"

Albert goes over to the formation's navigator, trying to work out their location. Byron keeps watching their surroundings, feeling unease swell in his chest. His heart rate picks up, and he immediately knows, as the muscles in his back tense up suddenly, that something is wrong. Nico, on his other side, is now frowning deeply and freezes when he looks at Byron. Sensing the danger, his head whips around. He moves his horse to be in a defensive position.

And this danger is confirmed half a second later, when Byron sees a glimpse of a black shadow in the distance, and hears the distant echo of hooves in the snow.

"Weapons!" The word is abrupt, almost too quiet to hear at the edges of the group, but the soldiers are always ready and waiting for their king to give orders. The sound of swords being unsheathed shatters the near-silence of the landscape for a brief second, and then it falls silent once more. Still on their horses, the knights wait patiently for another signal or command.

Byron's eye remains focused on the area where he saw the silhouette, but it wavers every few seconds, scanning the surrounding ground to look for an ambush. He keeps his breathing steady, his sword sliding out from its place on his belt with a deliberate gradualness. His heartbeat and the wind is all he can hear, along with the horses' breaths, and for a moment the scene remains exactly the same.

And then there is sound and movement.

He hears a horse approaching in front of him and stiffens, sword rising up in preparation like he was always taught. Whoever it is comes at a steady pace, and Byron's eye narrows. "Who goes there? Present yourself and no harm will come to you."

"For the moment." Albert's grumble sounds behind him, the knight also tensed and ready for an attack. He has been inching his horse forward, and is now positioned directly to Byron’s side and forward slightly. He strains to see through the mist, but even with his glasses to help, it's no use; everything more than roughly eight foot away is completely obscured.

Mind recoiling and twisting almost painfully at the thought, Albert moves his horse forward once more. "This is your last chance. Show yourself."

Nico is in a similar position, heart and thoughts going into overdrive at the prospect of an attack. His face becomes determined, and he keeps himself focused on the oncoming threat.

There is a terse beat of silence as the drumming of the horse's hooves stop.

All of a sudden, a calm, familiar, and undoubtedly female voice sounds from the direction of the animal. "Lower your swords. We are not a threat to you."

Byron's whole composure breaks down almost immediately.

_It’s her._

You come into view and stop as far away as possible without becoming obscured once more, and the Steiner knights are sent into a similar state of shock and bafflement.

You are on a horse, which is covered near enough everywhere by thick material to shield the animal from the chilly winds. It's a black horse, medium sized but obviously strong.

Several buckles and buttons line the front of your coat, leading down to where it comes on your mid-thighs. Tight, thickened pants cling to your legs, the same colour as the coat, but are only slightly visible because of the heavy-duty boots that wrap around your feet, going right up to your knees. Over the coat, you wear a cloak, which is clasped at the front with a silver latch. Your face is partially covered by the fur around the hood, which is completely black like obsidian and made specifically to protect against the snow.

_Why is she here? How did she find us? Are we really that far out, or were they following us the whole time?_

Albert's mind goes into overdrive as these questions whirr through it, whilst Byron silently tries to work out what your plan could be.

Meanwhile, you raise your eyebrows, patience thinning quickly. "We are here to help you. Lower your swords."

Byron knows he should probably get himself away from you, or not trust you at all. However, the way he sees it, you aren't the type to play with your prey before devouring it; you would just kill and be done with it. So, if you were here to hurt the Steiners, you would have used the snow's presence to hide an attack, and would've tried to hurt them already.

His instincts scream to not do it, but he forces them to settle, as he's had to do many times as a king despite not wanting to. "Lower your swords." He slides his own back into its sheathe, hearing the other knights behind him doing the same.

Albert, still beside him, sends the young monarch a bewildered look, faltering for a moment. He pauses, sword still raised but slowly moving down. "Your Majesty, we cannot-"

However, he habitually stops when Byron turns to look at him, immediately seeing the silent communication on his face. He knows that he needs to do as he is told, despite the circumstances. He searches Byron's expression for a moment longer, looking for any sign of doubt or fear, but he finds none. Although unhappy about it, he puts his sword back in its place, immediately turning his gaze to you.

You nod in response to the compliance they have shown you. "Thank you." Your gaze remains focused on Byron, although it flickers to Albert for a fraction of a second before returning to the royal. "I assume you've become disoriented in the storm. This land belongs to Vinessia."

_Damn._

Byron's heart thumps faster at that, and he mentally winces at the mistake he has made; this will most certainly put a dint in Vinessia's opinion of Stein, and it will also make him look idiotic to both you and your knights. That's not something he can afford in any way, especially with the current development in the relationships between your countries.

However, denying this would prompt you to ask for the reason as to their location here, which would be hostile in nearly every scenario.

Sighing inwardly, too subtly to notice, he responds in an even tone. "Yes. The snow worsened quickly and we lost our bearings."

He waits for the laughter, or for the insults or mocking comments, but there are none. You simply nod, expression blank, before you turn your gaze to the surroundings. "It's easily done," You reply, your eyes scanning the area in a paced, careful half-moon. "Particularly this area. It's renowned for its unpredictable weather, and the winters are worsening every year."

Now, you look at Byron once more, your voice softening marginally. "We can escort you back to Stein. It's the safest option for you; should you try to navigate back on your own, you risk being taken for an enemy by our guards and questioned, or becoming more disoriented because of the snow. We know this area much better, and know the least hazardous but quickest ways to get back to Stein."

Albert's eyes narrow, his protectiveness of Byron and distrust of you working its way into his voice when he responds quickly, "And why should we trust you? We've barely had any contact with your countr-"

"Albert, enough. Be quiet." Byron's snapped command cuts the knight off. The latter quickly realises that what he said was probably not the smartest considering you're a highly skilled and trained general, and that his comment could have had extremely serious consequences on Stein’s democratic relationship with Vinessia. Byron remains calm, even though this same though is running through his head. “I apologise for his temper."

You don't outwardly react other than raising an eyebrow slightly, nodding. However, your eyes gain a warning glint even with the shadows of your hood, and you respond evenly, "There's no need. I understand."

Byron lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding quietly, then glances around him once more. The snow is getting heavier by the minute, developing into a full-blown blizzard, and he has the feeling that it will not end well should they stay out; although the snow itself won't do any damage, the prolonged exposure to the icy chill could cause any of them to become sick, or even kill them.

It's a silly thing to do, but it's even sillier to risk getting caught in a blizzard and losing men in the storm.

So, the king swallows his pride and reluctance, nodding once more.

"We accept your offer. Thank you for the assistance." He masks his tone carefully, not letting a fraction of emotion enter it and expose his disgruntled feelings.

"Of course. My knights are waiting a little way away, so I'll bring them over and plan the best route, and we'll be on our way." You don't even give him time to react before you have turned, riding into the endless white and disappearing from his vision.

Albert immediately looks at Byron, exclaiming, "Your majesty, we cannot trust them! We barely know a thing about them - they've just had a civil war! For all we know, this could be a trick, or they could have planned this out and been following us."

Byron waits until the knight, seeing his king's blank expression, quietens, and then he speaks in a low murmur. "I will not risk my men's lives for the sake of pride. If we stay out here, there is a very high chance of us being attacked, and I will not take that risk."

Although disgruntled, Albert says nothing in response to this. Nico is still frowning and moves his horse even closer to Byron's; despite the fact that he likes you and thinks that your intentions are genuine, he doesn't like the thought of his king's life being placed in the hands of another ruler, namely one with little information to their identity.

A few minutes of silence pass, and then you return, the sound of many hooves in the snow accompanying you. Byron, Albert and Nico watch with varied expressions as maybe fifteen of your knights emerge from the snow, dressed in protective clothing similar to your own. Their horses are also protected, and they stare back at the Steiner knights just as intensely as the latter watch them.

"Here," You break the tense silence, approaching Byron, Nico and Albert with a scroll of parchment. "This is a map of the region we are in at the moment." You open the parchment up and turn away from the blizzard, pointing out an area in the northeast of Vinessia.

"We are here at the moment. Down here, here and here, along with the area around there," You run your fingers over specific parts of the map while you explain, "Are patches of unstable ice and rock. So, we will have to avoid those areas completely, or we run a very high risk of being hurt should they collapse. This means that we will have to take this route."

You then motion from your current location, downwards, a brief right, then a sharp, diagonal left. "It's the quickest and simultaneously safest one. All of the others are extremely dangerous and not suitable for so many horses all at once, especially when half aren't used to the terrain as well."

Byron, Albert and Nico crowd around the map, all assessing it and trying to work out where it will lead. Byron quickly realises that it will take them to the nearest border crossing to Stein, one at the foot of the largest mountain in the range. Satisfied with this, he nods, glancing up at you. "We will take this one, then."

You return the nod, then manoeuvre your horse around so that you are facing your knights. “We're taking a detour to the store fallet fjellet, and we'll be taking King Byron and his men to the central-southern border crossing. Make a flank around them for now, until we get to the ice banks. We will be leaving in a moment."

Nico's eyes narrow at your use of a foreign word in your instructions; he immediately wonders whether or not you've said something significant, and becomes confused as to how you would be able to speak more than one language when most townspeople are only taught one. From what he knows about languages around the world, which isn’t much, he reckons it’s something northern. It reminds him of when he was in Wysteria once, and Leo spoke in Norwegian. He wonders if that’s the language. Things are starting to become more and more shrouded when it comes to you.

He doesn't have time to think about this, though, as you and your knights form a protective shield around the Steiners. He quickly gets his horse in line and facing the correct way. The group starts to move at once, as a unit. Your bodyguards are close to you, he sees, and seem to be inching closer with every step their horses take.

One of them, with raven hair and eyes icy blue like glaciers, looks over his shoulder, meeting Nico's gaze. He gives him what looks like a warning look, and then his lips twist into what look like a barely suppressed snarl as his eyes fill with rage. Nico scowls back, driving back the urge to bare his teeth. Albert notices the intense exchange. The latter glares at the bodyguard, a threatening aura exuding from him like smoke.

At this point, your head turns towards the bodyguard. Both Nico and Albert, as well as a narrow-eyed and now suspicious Byron, hear you snap out an order they can't understand. The bodyguard watches you for a moment, and you simply stare back until his eyes move to the ground in front of you all again.

The ride is silent and uneventful for the next forty or so minutes, with glances and spiteful looks being sent to and from the knights of the leaders every now and again. Eventually, you come up on the ice banks, large bodies of frozen water that are separated by built-up snow and land. You hold up your hand in a halting gesture, and the group slowly comes to a stop.

You then dismount your horse, slowly approaching the edge of the banks while you lower your hood. Your bodyguards follow and hover around you while you crouch down, drawing a long, thin metal pole from the side of your sword's sheathe. You pull out what looks like a small hammer from the inside of your jacket, and the raven-haired bodyguard crouches next to your form, taking it from you.

He then waits until you have placed the tip of the pole against the ice before tapping it. Your eyes study the ice closely, watching the sharp rod pierce it. You wait until it suddenly pushes through more, in a jolt, and nod with a satisfied look. "Okay. It's twenty-five centimetres thick, so it should support us all if we go across slowly. It's old as well, so it should be safe."

You then nod to your bodyguard, who gives the rod back before motioning for two of your knights to follow him. They do so as he very slowly, very cautiously manoeuvres his horse across the ice. You are watching intently, eyes narrowed, listening for any sound under the ice. The three horses keep going at a steady pace for a few moments.

That is, until there is a creaking sound from the ice.

The bodyguard's hand comes up immediately, and then he rides backwards, moving away from the area where the creaking came from. He then navigates around it, making adjustments as he goes. After maybe five minutes, he has reached the other side, and he nods from across the bank. The three horses move onto the snow, away from the edge of the bank.

You exhale, nodding more to yourself than anyone else before turning back to your horse. You rub the side of its nose for a second, murmuring something to it, then mount it and turn to Byron. He wonders what you said to it, but suppresses his curiosity and instead listens to you advise, "It's safer that you go across now, while the bank is definitely safe. My knights will escort you over."

Byron nods in agreement, granted less than happy about leaving Nico and Albert on the other side. The said knights are just as uncomfortable, with Nico watching him ride forward with a pained expression. Albert's gaze is hard and untrusting as the king is led forward by two of your knights, who take no notice of the stares and focus on making sure that the ice is safe. They follow the same path taken by the others, and although a few minor changes are made, they reach the other side without an issue.

Nico lets out a ragged breath, heart pounding and expression still worried, when Byron reaches the snow. Albert's glare softens and he sighs in relief, seeing the young monarch nod to him with a tiny smile.

As this happens, you turn to your other bodyguard, mumbling to him, "Tobias, take those two knights across."

He immediately scowls, shaking his head violently. "No. I'm going with you. I'm not leaving you alone-"

"Tobias."

He cuts off at your sharp pronunciation of his name, seeing you frowning up at him. "That wasn't a request. I want you to take them across. I will be fine, and will follow over when everyone else has been taken over."

"But that's when it'll be the most hazardous, ___! You may not be concerned about your life, but you can't be reckless! You're too important to be doing things like this! You need to think about how your actions will affect everyone else-" You lose it at this point, snapping,

"Enough, Tobias. I have done what I wanted to do. I helped the people to overthrow the monster that was holding them down. I set them free from the chains of the monarchy. Now, all I am is a general who has been chosen by those people to act as a representative of our country; I did not ask for this. I am not of ‘royal’ blood, I am not someone who needs to be protected all of the time, and I am not going to change what I do just because others deem that I should. Remember that."

The whole thing, while powerful, is said quietly, so much so that only the receiving bodyguard can hear it. He recoils slightly at the seething irritation in your voice, having only had it directed at just him several times in his life, before averting his eyes. He swallows thickly, clenching his jaw, then nods. You say and do nothing while he rides forward, sending a brief look at the two Steiner knights.

"You two, with me. Follow quickly." He then goes forward without another word, leaving Nico and Albert to glance at each other before riding over. Nico looks mildly uncomfortable, staring at Tobias' back with confusion at his now much more aggressive manner, whilst Albert has a look of annoyance on his face.

Byron watches this happen with a narrowed eye, but his attention quickly moves to be completely on Albert and Nico as they cross over. He is listening and looking for any change or danger in the ice, straining his senses in the process. Nothing happens, though, and he breathes out a soft sigh when the two knights ride up to his side. Nico beams, and Albert now looks more relaxed.

For the next ten or so minutes, the Steiner knights make their way across the bank. The ice seems to be holding, and less creaks are heard as they adjust the path to the stronger areas. This helps to ease the minds of your two bodyguards, who watch anxiously from the other side.

Finally, you are riding over the ice, and Tobias' grip on his reins becomes painfully tight with fear and worry. You take no notice, keeping yourself calm. Yourself and the last of your knights, a somewhat inexperienced younger boy, cross the terrain. He looks nervous and is prone to not being in control of his emotions when things happen, which is why you kept him back with you. He is usually able to stay more composed when near you.

You are nearing the other side when a creak sound under the ice, extremely close to the boy's horse. It jolts slightly and he panics, letting out a small yelp of alarm. You quickly take his reins and pull his horse towards you, sending a warning look to your two bodyguards; they have started to ride forward, nearer to the edge of the ice, to come and help should something happen. They stop as you look at them, granted with frustrated and concerned expressions clearly on their faces.

When you are away from the unstable area, you rub the boy's shoulder and wait until he has settled a bit, then take his horse's reins once more and guide him the rest of the way.

Byron scrutinises this, feeling somewhat confused - your ability to stay collected is extremely impressive, and yet you are able to compassionate and considerate at the same time, whilst also preventing yourself from looking weak. Such a level of control and coolness is something he has only ever seen in the nobility, and in people who have suffered heavily in their lives and so had to master their composure. He wonders which group you belong to.

As he thinks this, you reach the edge and ride onto the snow, giving the boy a small smile. "You alright?" He nods, bowing his head and responding,

"Yes, General ___. Thank you very much. I apologise for panicking." You just shake your head.

"It's fine. We all do it; I understand. It'll get better in time." You then look to Byron, your face settling into a neutral, stoic expression. "Shall we continue? It should be a straight run to the border now."

He nods, wanting to get back to known territory as soon as possible. You return the gesture, then raise your voice slightly while you address your knights. "Return to the formation. We're moving."

They do as they are told, making a protective circle around the Steiners again. Your bodyguards are even closer to you now, and both of them seem almost on-edge. The fair-haired one glances at you periodically and Tobias is scowling deeply, looking the other way. You notice the looks you are getting from your side and level the other bodyguard with a cool stare, murmuring gently, "Xander, it's okay. Calm down."

He gives you another look of concern before nodding, shifting his gaze to the ground ahead. You sigh softly while you watch the snow swirling around you, noticing that it's getting faster and thicker as time goes by. You frown, lips pressing together at the thought that it will probably be knee-high in a few hours if this continues.

Nico shivers at the biting wind and snow against his face, wincing slightly. "Hey, Al," He starts, drawing the irritated knight's attention. "Have you ever seen a blizzard like this in Stein?"

The said knight glances at the sky, raising an eyebrow and eyeing the mountain a little way away, in front of the group. "No, I haven't." He answers. "However, I would suspect that it is because of our proximity to the mountains here, and the higher elevation of the ground."

"Correct," Tobias' voice sounds from the front, bordering on snappy as he responds to the statement. "But not completely. The severity of the snowstorms across the country is worsened by the mountainous terrain, but it is essentially caused by our position in relation to the flow of air; we are situated right along the area which is hit by warm air rising above cold air in the atmosphere, and our strong winds, added to by the mountains, make our blizzards much stronger than many places. They're not the worst, but they're not exactly light."

Albert's glare intensifies greatly at the apparently unwanted comment, and Tobias glances over his shoulder at the knight with a victorious, smug smirk. Albert's lips twitch into a semi-snarl. He goes to say something back, but is stopped when Byron sends him a strong look of warning, eye glinting dangerously. Albert backs down and settles on glaring at Tobias' back, since he's now facing forward, but he calms marginally when you mutter something to the latter, sounding irritated.

For a few minutes, there is silence among the group, except for the howling of the wind and the sound of the horses' hooves on the ground. You glance up, however, as you hear a distant booming sound, your head snapping to the west. You still completely as you see, maybe twenty minutes away, a flash in the sky. A few seconds later, there is a clap of thunder that ripples through the air, getting weaker as it nears. It's quiet and mostly unnoticeable, but you've been trained to listen for such sounds. After all, they can do more damage than an entire army in mere hours.

You immediately turn to Byron, who is also looking to the west. "King Byron, we need to move, quickly. We should ride faster to avoid being caught in the storm; they are extremely unpredictable in this region."

The king nods, agreeing with your judgement. He can see how large and active the storm is, and with the combination of two aggressive forms of weather, the situation is becoming more and more hazardous with every passing second. "We should."

You nod back, then raise your hand and shout, "Everyone spread out - we're going to ride quickly for the rest of the way. There's a storm coming, and we need to get away from it as soon as possible."

Although there's mild confusion at first from the Steiners, they extend the formation to be more spaced out, and soon you are all riding at a quick pace towards the mysterious nation. You estimate that you only have perhaps fifteen minutes of ground left to cover, and you think bitterly that it would have taken much less time if you all hadn't been moving so slowly up until now. Of course, this has thrown off your plans. The weather could jeopardise your whole route back to your home, and is severely dangerous for your troops.

You'll have to wait and see what happens in the next half an hour or so.

Albert has been watching the sky with a concerned expression, seeing it darken, clouds thickening and forming around the storm. However, now that they are riding quickly, he has to look in front of him, and his attention is soon drawn to you. He eyes you as you ride, seeing the trained, meticulous and yet simultaneously relaxed way that you hold yourself. He notices that you seem completely content and natural while you ride, despite the tension in your body and the way you are periodically glancing at the oncoming storm.

He doesn't trust you, he decides. Something about you is off. You radiate secrecy.

He's not going to let you get close to Byron. That, he's certain of.

 **†** **♛** **†**

A little while later, sooner than you expected, you arrive at the border. You slow your horse and then stop, the group doing the same, as the archers raise their bows in your direction.

"Identify yourself!" One of them shouts. You raise an eyebrow and turn to look at Byron, who is somewhat hidden amongst the knights, and he slowly rides forward. He then comes to be next to you, much to the annoyance of Tobias, before calling,

"Lower your weapons! That's an order!"

Upon seeing Byron amongst the group of knights, the archers quickly lower their bows and start to open the gates. Byron starts to ride forward, inside, but stops when he glances back and sees that you aren't moving. He gives you a quizzical look, to which you just back up a little on your horse, saying,

"We must return home quickly. We don't want to be hit by the storm on our way back." Byron feels a strange ache in his chest at that. Eyeing the storm as it slowly creeps across the sky, he immediately becomes concerned for the safety of you and your knights.

Nico is thinking along the same lines. He watches as a bolt of lightning strikes the ground, closer than earlier, and sees the next bolt branch out before pulsating and disappearing. With the speed at which the storm is moving, and the way it's creeping over Vinessia, you'll be caught up in it regardless of how soon and fast you leave. It's too dangerous to even attempt.

"General ___, the storm is worsening quickly. It's too hazardous to travel in. You are more than welcome to stay here until it passes." Byron's voice speaks his worries in a respectful tone, and Nico looks back to you.

You are watching Byron with a somewhat suspicious expression, a very mild frown working its way onto your features. Your eyes narrow, your head turning to the storm once more. You assess it for a moment, taking in its speed and position as well as its direction. While you do, Tobias and Xander ride forward to be flanking your front protectively. They watch Nico, Byron and Albert, the two knights having ridden to their king whilst he was speaking. Tobias looks at you briefly, murmuring,

"___, we can handle the storm. It's not bad enough to stop us. If we go straight to the east from here and move as fast as we can, we can outrun it even if it keeps going. We can't stay here-" He is cut off by Xander, who interrupts, asking,

"And what will we reach if we go straight east?" Tobias scowls at him, saying nothing. "The ice banks. They'll slow us down and most likely put us in just as much danger as the storm will if we go around them." Xander gives his fellow knight a pleading look, his voice becoming even softer. "You know I hate this as much as you do. However, if we run, we're putting all of us at risk, and a strong risk at that. I'm not happy with doing that. It could ruin everything we've worked for."

Tobias watches him closely for a moment, then scoffs, shaking his head. "I don't trust it. We shouldn't be here."

You are frowning properly now, having concluded that you will most definitely be hit by the storm if it doesn't change its course completely, and that if it does, it will still take a long time to get back. Even then, that will probably involve crossing some ice banks, which will be dangerous. Additionally, your horses are getting tired, having not rested for a long time. They probably won’t hold out much longer.

"General ___," Your gaze returns to Byron when he says your name gently, and you see him watching you closely. He gives you a small smile. "Consider it compensation for us trespassing on Vinessia's territory, and having to be escorted back. We're happy to have you here."

There's something in his voice that sounds different. You don't know what it is, but the sound, along with the soft set of his face and the smile you have only seen several times, make your throat squeeze and your mind lean more towards staying. You see Tobias' expression morph into one of complete distrust, and he turns away, riding a bit away from the group at what Byron said. You look at him as he does this, your hood hiding the tiny amount of pain visible on your face.

Knowing that you don't really have a choice, you let out a breath and look at Byron once more.

"Alright. We will stay, as long as we can be in close proximity to each other whilst we are here. We will not cause any trouble, but I would rather not have my knights heavily separated." Your answer prompts Nico to grin; he's starting to see more important aspects of your behaviour and thought process, and now knows that you care extensively about your knights.

This move could, of course, be a suspicious one, but looking at the way you act normally and your history, he is pretty sure there's something deeper going on with you, and that your decisions are genuine. You are a protector, and you are evidently not completely trusting of Stein. So, you're definitely not easily won over by people and stick to your own plans and thoughts.

Byron nods at your words, replying, "Of course. We'll see to it that your accommodation is sorted out when we arrive. We'll have clothes prepared for you for the night-time, and will wash your clothes so that they will be ready for tomorrow."

You frown slightly again at that. "While we appreciate your hospitality, we can wash our own clothes. You need not trouble yourselves with such matters; we can take care of them."

Byron raises an eyebrow. "It's no trouble, I assure you. It is because of us that you are staying here, and so we are happy to take care of these things. It is not something you should be concerning yourself with whilst staying here."

Your expression has flattened by this point, and Byron notices it. Your eyes have hardened and become marginally hostile, your lips set in a tight line. When you speak, your voice is much less compassionate than before. "If possible, I think we should discuss this later. The horses have been out for a long time and we need to make sure that ours have not been harmed by the ice."

Byron is slightly taken aback by your swift mood change, and he wonders if he said something inappropriate. He can't think of any faults in his sentence but decides to leave it, and to just ask Nico and Albert later. He nods, seeing your point. "Of course. You can leave your horses in the stables next to the palace. We have more than enough room to accommodate them."

You say nothing to this, and Byron simply turns to be facing forward again before riding into Stein. You follow behind when the Steiners motion for you to proceed, glancing at Tobias and seeing that he is slowly catching up to you, his expression uncomfortable and mildly hurt. Your heart twists at the sight, but you say nothing as you make your way to the stables.

 **†** **♛** **†**

  
Ten minutes later, you have dismounted your horse and are picking snow out of its hooves, making sure they're clear before standing and rubbing its face. You rest your forehead against its nose, feeling it butt its own against yours in response. You murmur to it gently. "We'll be home soon. I promise. Soon."

You take a moment to stand there, listening to the horse's strong breaths, before you brush down its fur and mane. Your knights are all doing the same, making sure their horses are happy and taken care of. You barely notice them, though; your attention is otherwise occupied.

You keep patting your horse's nose while you stand there. Glancing behind you, you notice the Steiner knights watching your movements, as well as those of your own troop. Unease and discomfort swell in your chest. You look back to the horse, seeing its large eyes focused on you.

"I know." Your voice is almost inaudible, whispered into its fur. It helps to calm you, feeling the animal's strong muscle and pulse under your hands. It takes away from the weight of the stares on your back, from the flashbacks plaguing you.

"___."

Your head whips around to the left, your hand leaving your horse to reach for your sword immediately. You stop, though, as you see Xander stood there, with Tobias leaning against the wall behind him. He is scowling again, looking angry again, and has his eyes on something outside the stable. You can't see what it is, but you don't need to ask.

"Byron's here. He's asking if you want to finish discussing the arrangements, if you're done." Xander's words send a slither of ice sliding down your spine, but it quickly rises back up, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

The thought of being alone with a monarch, and a young one at that - one whose father was a tyrant... can you control yourself? Will you be able to hold your composure when with him, alone? With someone who's part of something you hate so deeply and passionately?

You suppose you don't have a choice.

"Alright." You nod.

Returning the equipment you've used to its rightful place, giving your horse a final pat and hugging its nose, you proceed to approach Xander. He gives you a strained smile, and then falls into step with you, staying close enough that you can feel the warmth from his fingers as they briefly brush against yours. You return the touch before hiding your fingers in your cloak, readying yourself. You reach the door to outside.

When you emerge from the stables, Byron is near, his knights stood around him protectively. He nods to you, a gesture you give back with an unreadable expression. "If it's alright, we can finish our discussion in the castle. We will go there now, but I will leave some of my knights here to escort yours should they not be finished."

Your heart twists painfully at the thought of separating from your knights. Still, you can't exactly say no. "That's fine." You turn to Xander, seeing him watching you closely. "Xander, I want you to stay here and make sure everyone gets to the castle safely. You know how to behave better than Tobias." You say the last part quietly, making him smile a little.

He then nods, bowing his head slightly at the end. "Of course. See you later."

You give him a tiny smile of your own before turning to Tobias. You raise an eyebrow, to which he gathers several of your most trusted and experienced knights. He moves away from the wall to stand behind you, on your left side. The knights hover around you. He looks extremely untrusting and jittery, and is very close to you, his chest almost touching the small part of your back that he is in proximity to. Looking around you and seeing no Steiner knights that are able to see your hand, you subtly reach out and grasp his fingers, squeezing them lightly and rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

You then let go, stepping forward and feeling Tobias shadow the movement. "Shall we go, then?"

Byron nods, gesturing to a carriage sat a little way away. You feel irritation and discomfort surge through you at the thought of riding it, your body urging you to go back to your horse. You stop yourself, though, and mutely approach Byron. He watches you for a moment, and then starts to walk to the carriage while he remains on your other side. His knights shift to make a protective circle around you both, and you can feel your own becoming uncomfortable, now surrounded by the soldiers.

As you walk to the carriage, you notice many things about Byron, as well as the two knights that act like his bodyguard. Byron is looking for weakness in you; he's been watching you from the start, and you know he's looking for falls in your performance. You also know from the conversation in the trade meeting that he wants to know your background and history, something that, whilst you aren't particularly bothered about anymore, you want to keep to yourself as much as possible.

The smaller guard, Nico, is also trying to work these things out, and even though he isn't the obviously suspicious type, you feel like he's hiding something. He knows more than he should already, from the way he has been looking at you. His body language and the look in his eyes tell a different story from the way he acts. He's been badly hurt by something in the past.

Finally, Albert just seems to completely not trust nor like you very much, and is fiercely loyal to Byron to the point of being a potential threat. You're wary of him and his volatile nature, and know that you need to be careful when dealing with him. He’s probably the biggest threat to you and your country from Stein.

The said knight opens the carriage door, bowing formally. Byron motions for you to enter, and you approach the steps. As you go to enter, though, Byron holds his hand out to you.

For a moment, you are completely and utterly baffled.

_This isn't right. His behaviour isn't normal._

It's in this moment that you have a sudden second of clarity, and it all clicks together; he's trying to provoke you. He's doing things that he knows will irritate you in order to get you to lash out, to show your limits and break you down. It's a test.

You'll not fail. You'd rather die.

You take his hand with a polite nod, then look forward dismissively. You climb in and sit down on the seat facing forwards. You move over to the far side as Byron gets in, and you see Albert close the door behind him.

You watch as your knights are taken to the side of the carriage and out of sight at the rear, and you resist the urge to look where they are going. Assuming that Byron isn't going to make conversation, you stare out of the window, keeping your expression blank. Your hues take in the scenery and state of the country around you.

"I assume you're not very accustomed to this." Your eyes snap to his face when he speaks, and you immediately go on the defensive at the implication of the words, your eyebrow arching slightly with annoyance.

"Accustomed to what, exactly?" You make the warning clear in your voice and response. However, you swear inwardly straight after, noticing a glint flash through his eye. He's pleased with your reaction, apparently.

"Riding in carriages. You seem to prefer horses over them." Damn him. So, he has definitely noticed very little things about you. If you're not careful, he's going to have an advantage over you.

You decide to try and throw him off.

"I have no preference. It matters not to me how I travel." You see his eye narrow at this, and he rests his face on his knuckles, watching you carefully. Before he can say anything, a tiny smirk forms on your lips, your mind forming a retaliatory comment. "And it seems that you prefer carriages, do you not?"

You see his mouth tighten at that, but his tone otherwise betrays no emotion. He speaks again. "Likewise, I have no preference."

"I see." The whole exchange is tense and almost suffocating. The simultaneous distrust and morbid fascination from him, and the irritation and forced calm from you are clashing together badly.

"Tell me, why do you wish to take care of yourselves? You must have other things to attend to, and we are more than happy to do it for you all. I am curious as to why you are so intent on doing it yourself."

You force back a laugh.

_We?_

You think to yourself bitterly as you formulate your answer, remembering how content you were when you were at the ball with him. You must have had a severe lapse of character to have forgotten what he is and how he thinks, how he sees the world. It sends a wave of rage through you when you analyse his use of "we". He's probably never done anything like housework or chores, and will probably have people do simple tasks for him.

So, you look him in the eye, replying dryly, "I want to do it because there is no reason for someone else to take care of such small matters. They are easy to do, and there is no reason to allow someone else to do it. I understand that it is proper manners to accept help when offered it, but considering that our stay was not planned, I don't think this applies.

"Regardless of how close our countries are and how strong our alliance is, I will always aim to have as little an effect on the people around me as I can. The way I view it is that there are very few people in life who have a genuine obligation to take care of someone else, and even with those, the obligation can be terminated at a point. I want to take care of myself, because in any instance, including this, it is not guaranteed that someone else will quite be "happy" to do it. Allowing someone else to help you or become involved with caring for you opens up the possibility of them being hurt by your actions, and your actions alone."

Seeing his slightly taken-aback expression, you let yourself smile a little, adding quietly, "And it matters not who or what the being helping you is. No matter the size of the inconvenience, it is one, and that can cause so many problems that it's frightening, for someone that you might not even be thinking about. This seems odd considering what I've done in Vinessia, but I did not, in any way, want a war. There was truly no other way to solve the issue."

Hopefully, that'll get through his arrogant skull and make him realise the weight of the things he says.

He watches you very carefully for a few seconds, his eye narrowing again, before he responds evenly. "Fair point." He shifts in his seat, expression unreadable. He then raises an eyebrow. "Who exactly are you, ___ _____?"

You decide to be a smartarse in order to avoid telling the truth, something that's probably not wise but really the only option. "You've just answered your own question, King Byron. You know my name. Need I say it myself?"

His expression flattens. "Ah, so we're playing games? That's rather unsettling, considering that we're in an alliance."

You can't stop a frown from sliding onto your face. "How we, on a personal level, interact with one another and the things we are willing to say, have no link to our alliance in itself."

"I'm inclined to disagree." You hold back a snarl. "Your insistence on telling very little about yourself implies that you have something to hide, and that in itself is a threat."

You let out a humourless laugh. "I am not the only one who has said little about themselves while in power."

He stops dead at that, his body freezing in place. You suppress a smile, knowing you've hit the perfect chink in his armour.

He takes a few seconds to think before speaking again. "True," He starts, his tone now mildly annoyed. "But some information regarding my personal life is known. My history is known. You, however, have not disclosed any information of the sort."

He has a point there. Your mind flashes back to your early years, quickly rolling through your life in painful segments. You swallow back the sickness in your throat, crossing your arms on instinct. You resist the extremely strong urge to rub your wrist as it throbs, instead pressing it against your chest forcefully. "Why does it matter?"

Your words are simple, but your body language and voice, momentarily weakened even though you try to remain stoic, speak volumes. Byron takes in every detail of your movements as you say this, watching you cross your arms. So, you have something in your past that you don't want to talk about, and it makes you feel vulnerable when thinking or speaking about it. He also notices you wriggle your wrist a bit, almost like it's recoiling at something. Your voice says that you're emotionally distressed, further confirming this.

He's glad that he hit a nerve, as cruel as it is. Now he can try to piece together what you're hiding from him.

"It matters because not knowing who someone is, in essence, dangerous. It's suspicious." His answer makes you sigh, watching the castle come closer as the carriage is driven up to the bridge.

"We've arrived." You state, tactically ending the conversation.

The next few seconds are filled with a tense silence. Then, the carriage comes to a halt and the door opens, revealing Albert stood there once more. Byron gestures for you to get out first, and you do so quickly but not obviously so. Tobias is stood opposite to Albert, and he offers you his hand as you get out. You nod to him and jump down, then move away from the carriage. You take in the castle.

You've seen it before, of course. However, it is still somewhat breathtaking as you look at the delicate architecture and designs in its features.

After looking at it for a moment, though, a gruesome memory blurs through your mind. You quickly look away.

Byron is out now and nods to Albert, who bows and closes the door before calling for the driver to move the carriage. Byron turns to you while it rides away, saying, "Let us go. We will finish with our discussion and wait for the rest of your knights to arrive, and then I will show you all to your rooms."

You nod. "Of course. Thank you."

He simply returns the nod before gesturing to his knights, who make a protective circle around you and your small group once more. Byron starts walking slowly, and you match his pace, it becoming faster after a few moments.

You stare ahead at the castle, feeling the eyes of the Steiners on your back. Although your exterior is composed and unconcerned, you can't help but feel a twisting in your chest. Byron temporarily slows so that he is walking alongside you.

And all you want to do is scream as he looks down at you upon reaching the doors, his eye trained on your wrist.

 **†** **♛** **†**

An hour later, your discussion has finished.

No one won.

It was agreed that you and your knights would take care of yourselves, but you would accept Stein's offer of additional clothing should you need it, along with access to the training grounds.

Needless to say, it's even more intense between you two now, especially as his knights go to show your own where they'll be staying, leaving you alone with him. He is escorting you to your room, having given you a tour of the castle's facilities and rooms, and the walk there seems to be endless. Your footsteps fill the empty hallways, at first clashing but now synchronised.

You can practically feel the power radiating from him. It's painfully familiar, that sense of overwhelming control and influence. It bears down on you and lashes out at your will, trying to bend it to his. Only years of exposure to such auras has allowed you to keep your composure around it, and it is why you aren't panicked around him. Well, not horrifically so, anyway.

Because you know he saw you moving your wrist. He knows there's something there.

You thought you had been careful, but evidently not. You've never been able to fully hide everything from people.

During the walk, you decide that you may as well use the time here to train. It'll limit your time with Byron, which is probably better for everyone, and give you an opportunity to improve the skills of yourself and your knights.

"King Byron," You start, drawing his attention. You keep facing forward, but you see him glance down at you in your peripheral vision. "You said that the training grounds would be accessible to my knights." He nods. "Would we be able to train for a little bit today? I think some of them are restless from the long ride."

He nods again, answering, "Of course. I understand; I'll tell my knights to remain out of the grounds for today and tomorrow."

You frown at that. "That's not necessary - I'm sure we can just use a small part of the grounds and your knights can stay in the remaining area."

"Are you sure?" His voice contains mild surprise at your willingness to share the grounds. He would have thought that you would be uncomfortable with training with them; after all, it would quite literally be asking for someone to get hurt and start a fight.

"Yes. It's no problem. Perhaps we can learn from each other's cultures and styles of fighting." That makes him smile; perhaps you are willing to cooperate with him, but it will take time.

That's alright. He can wait.

Well... for the most part.

"Most definitely. It will be interesting to see how the fighting differs between countries. Perhaps some of the knights from both countries will practice with each other." You nod again, the image in your head of this making you both pleased and scared at the same time.

Deep within Stein, training with their knights, running the risk of hurting someone and sparking a war... yet it would be an opportunity to bond and make the knights more trusting of each other, more willing to work together. You can't quite decide yet.

A few minutes of silence later, he stops at a large door, decorated with intricate designs with a gold frame. He opens it, revealing a room with crimson walls and white marble floor. The furniture is a beautiful mix of black and red, with a love seat, desk, wardrobe and a bed, the latter being large enough for at least three people. A set of full-length doors are at the end of the room, leading out onto what you can see is a balcony overlooking the forest and a part of the town.

"This is your room." You are in a trance of sorts as you take in the lavishly furnished room, but now you snap out of it. Forcing a small smile onto your face, your eyes rise up to meet his.

"It's beautiful. Thank you." He gives you a smile back and closes the door before stepping into the hallway, gesturing for you to follow him. He takes you down the hallway and to the left, which has a large, dark blue door.

"This is my room. Should you need anything and I am not in the study or dining room, or with you, I will probably be in here. Feel free to ask if you need something." He is cool and collected while he says this, monitoring your expression closely. He wonders if you'll become flustered at all from this; apparently things like this can make some people react, or so Nico told the emotionally troubled monarch.

However, he has no such luck. Your face remains impassive at this, and you simply nod. "Thank you." He watches you for a moment, a strange spark in his eye. You raise an eyebrow, asking, "What is it?"

The raven-haired king continues to stare at your expression for several seconds, and then a soft sigh escapes him. "You are a rather intriguing woman, General ___. I think I will have to increase my efforts to work out who you are."

Now, your face betrays emotion. Shock and surprise, as well as a considerable amount of confusion, flit across your features before you can reign in your composure again. You're baffled once again; where did that come from? And more so, why is your heart squeezing in your chest? Is it fear that he's going to discover your past? Are you worried that he'll try to kill you, and most likely succeed?

You can't tell. Your whole mind is whirling.

Regardless, you force yourself to form a response. "Thank you. I will have to also increase my efforts to keep who I am a secret, then."

You hadn't noticed, but he has been walking to your room once more, and you have been idly walking with him. You watch as he opens the door, following him, but you pause when he turns back to flash you a small grin. "Of course. Let us see who wins the game."

This man is getting more and more confusing to you. One minute he's like a human rock and displays no emotion, and the next he's smiling and being playful?

You don't understand him. He's about as predictable as a drunken mountain lion.

Back to the present, Byron goes over to the wardrobe and opens it, gesturing to the collection of clothes inside. They are all dresses, you see, and you force back the scowl that tries to form on your face. You don't have anything against wearing dresses inherently, but most are just not your style at all; you prefer darker ones, ones that are easier to move in, ones that don't try to flatter your body excessively or show you off.

Byron can feel your lack of enthusiasm for the dresses and suppresses a smirk, commenting, "I take it you're not particularly fond of dresses?"

"Yes, I don't quite enjoy wearing them." He looks somewhat amused at this and nods, closing the wardrobe and approaching you slowly. "I will see to it that some clothes are made for you for tonight and tomorrow. What would you like? You agreed to this in our discussion, so there will be no escaping it."

This feels extremely strange, standing in a bedroom with the king of Stein asking you what clothes you want. You shake off the thought, responding, "Just a shirt and trousers will do."

There's that little smile again. "Black?" Your expression flattens at this, and you nod in response.

"Yes, thank you." Your voice is dry as you say this, but he just nods again before giving a polite bow.

"Of course. I will see to it. Feel free to make your way to the training grounds at any time." He then proceeds to leave, shutting the door behind him quietly.

Almost immediately, your body slumps, falling against the bedpost.

You've had very little sleep recently, and by that you mean for the past few months, and your body is slowly succumbing to exhaustion. Today, with riding for so long and having to make the decision to stay in Stein, you're about ready to collapse. You just want to quit and spend the next year sleeping, doing whatever you want. You want to be able to relax. It's been at least thirteen years since you've been able to.

You can't, though. Such is life.

You take a moment to breathe deeply, letting in as much air as possible. You then shake your head and stand up straight, slapping your face quickly. The pain makes you alert again, wakes your brain up from its gradual relaxation.

_Wake up. You can't give up, not here and not now. Go and train._

Your conscience is quick to spite you for your moment of weakness, making you sigh. You take your cloak off. It's not cold enough in Stein to be wearing it. Besides, you still have your cape, which will insulate most of the weather's undesirable chills.

You take a minute to stretch and relax your muscles, giving them a break for the precious seconds that you can afford. You twist yourself around at the waist, feeling an unpleasant pulling sensation in your abdomen, along with a dull throbbing pain. You need to be careful; the revolution didn't treat you kindly.

After finishing this, you nod to yourself and leave the room, closing it behind you.

It's eerily quiet while you walk through the corridors at a steady pace, occasionally fiddling with or fixing the sword and throwing knives on your belt, at the sides. Absently fingering the metal under your sleeves, not thinking about the action, you watch outside through the windows, studying the town visible from this side of the castle.

Stein is strange. Its people are somewhat timid, but they're also very independent and self-sufficient. You suppose it's probably because they had to live in difficult circumstances when Byron's father was king.

You shudder at the thought of the man. He disgusts you.

It doesn't take long for you to find your knights waiting outside the entrance to the training grounds, seeming bored and on-edge. They visibly relax, though, when you enter. The sight makes your heart squeeze; you hate that you mean so much to them. You don't understand why they care so much.

"___..." Xander breathes your name out, then approaches, sighing and nodding. "Are you alright?"

You nod back but step a bit closer, speaking lowly in response. "Yeah. I'm just getting some flashbacks, but I'll be okay."

He gives you a concerned look, to which you just smile slightly and pat his arm. You then move past him, your knights separating to let you through, as you make your way into the training grounds. You take in the large room, seeing a near endless range of weapons on racks, with training targets and activities set up around the place. You exhale before you walk inside, ignoring the stares of the Steiner knights at the doors.

Almost immediately, your own knights have run into the room, drawing their swords and becoming more energised in seconds.

You just shake your head, sitting down on a bench. You watch them get to work. Your mind replays what you said to Xander, a twinge of sadness tugging at your mind.

_You can cope with the flashbacks for now. One day, they'll consume you. You can't escape your past._


	3. Part III | Challenge. Truce. Discovery.

**†** **♛** **†**

Maybe an hour later, you are monitoring a duel between Tobias and another knight, calling for breaches of the rules and errors in technique.

You're stood against the wall, leaning there with a blank expression. However, your head snaps to the door when you hear footsteps down the corridor, your body going rigid. You quickly recognise the footsteps and straighten up, crossing your arms over your chest tightly. You force your expression to become completely empty again, watching several of your knights pause at the sound.

Not ten seconds later, Byron emerges in the doorway, flanked by his two bodyguards and maybe eight other knights.

Almost immediately, Xander and Tobias have abandoned their duels and gravitated towards you, keeping their eyes on the advancing threat.

However, Byron only raises an eyebrow. "We were wondering if we could train with you all, in the hopes of gaining new skills and knowledge in combat. We would also like to see if we can teach any of you our skills."

You immediately feel the weight of your knights' stares on you, and it's difficult not to look over at them. Instead, you quickly make your choice and nod, replying, "Of course. We shall see how much we can gain from one another."

Byron returns the nod, and your knights look to you for direction as to what they should do. You just give them an encouraging look, saying, "If anyone wants to offer a duel, go on. Otherwise, continue individual training."

Your knights follow your orders, slowly starting to duel each other whilst watching the Steiners suspiciously. Xander and Tobias stay close to you, on either side of your body, and stay focused on staring Byron's knights. You see Tobias' lips curl back when two Steiners in particular eye a duel between your knights, murmuring to each other and pointing things out. You assume he's not particularly fond of the idea of sharing knowledge.

Before you can tell him to calm down, you hear a certain voice to your right, and your muscles lock in place at the words spoken.

"Excuse me, I think it's Tobias? Would you duel with me?" Your breath catches in your throat as you see Nico stood there, beaming innocently with his hands behind his back. He's practically bouncing while he asks this, and he grins upon seeing your somewhat surprised expression, chirping, "Do you mind, General ___? I think everyone's a bit too shy to ask each other, and I thought I'd start it off!"

You just stare at him for a moment, amazed and simultaneously completely distrusting. Then, you blink and nod, responding, "No, of course not. Thank you." You turn to Tobias, raising an eyebrow. "Would you like to duel with him?"

You've never seen a more terrifying grin in your life.

"It would be my extreme pleasure." He continues to smile ferally. He walks over to one of fighting squares, asking, "Shall we do this formally?"

Nico laughs at that, starting to unclip his weapon belt. "I can do either, but for the sake of our uniforms, I think informally will do."

Tobias nods. He does the same, proceeding to unfasten and take off his jacket. He throws it to Xander, who catches it with ease before giving the other knight a warning look. Tobias just smirks, unsheathing his sword and throwing it up in his signature move. He catches it by the blade, then flips it around to be held properly. Most people would have cut themselves, but he has mastered handling the blade in such a fashion that it won't hurt him.

Nico giggles at this, and you see Byron shake his head at the younger knight, although the latter doesn't seem to be paying much attention. No, he is rather twirling his sword around, moving it around his hand with his fingers but never dropping it. You raise your chin at the obvious match of skill, eyes moving to Tobias' face. You watch him carefully, communicating for him to be cautious. He just gives you a subtle wink, moving into position.

"So, how do you all do things here in Stein? In Vinessia, we fight to damage, not disarm." The taunting comment comes from Tobias in a smug voice, which makes Nico narrow his eyes slightly. He then tilts his head to the side, replying,

"We do whatever is necessary to ensure victory." Your eyes shoot to Byron now, and you see that he is watching you as well.

"Can we agree that any harm done here will not instigate a war or conflict between our countries, and that this is purely recreational?" His words are satisfactory to you and send a rush of relief through you. You nod.

"Definitely. No blame or ill feelings will come of this." He nods, turning back to Nico. You return your gaze to Tobias, then exhale, murmuring quietly.

"Begin."

As soon as the word leaves your mouth, Nico blurs into action. He dances forward, arcing his sword in a cutting sideward motion at Tobias. The latter seems mildly shocked by the speed of the knight, but he quickly recovers and meets the hit, the sound of metal on metal piercing the grounds. Tobias manoeuvres his sword to push Nico's away, then rushes forward and stabs forward, his sword heading straight for Nico's stomach.

Byron stops breathing for a moment, body almost lurching to him on instinct. This doesn't go unnoticed by you.

Nico quickly steps out of the way just as the sword passes him, before he swiftly gets his grin back; Tobias has fallen into a vulnerable position. Nico raises his sword, arcing it down at Tobias' neck as he turns-

Only to have his sword stopped mid-swing, caught in Tobias' left hand. Blood starts to pour from the skin, but Tobias ignores this. He yanks the sword to the side, his prominent muscles flexing. The sheer force pulls the weapon out of Nico's hand, dropping to the floor with a clink when Tobias lets it go. The said knight twists rapidly, his left hand shooting out to grab Nico's shirt and drag him towards the towering male.

And then his sword has risen up, the blade pressed into Nico's throat.

Tobias' grin widens once more. However, he simply releases Nico after a moment, picking up the fallen sword and handing it over. Nico takes it with wide eyes, seemingly not quite recovered from the unexpected loss. Tobias looks unnaturally smug as he returns to you, high-fiving several of the other knights on the way. Seeing your chiding but still proud look from the side, he flashes you a wolfish grin, confidence practically rolling from him.

"An interesting style." Byron's voice comes from your side, and you see that he is watching Nico. The latter returns to the monarch, still in shock at the swift turn of events. "Strategic, yet still forceful. Effective."

"But predictable." A new, dry voice sounds while you watch Xander clap a hand on Tobias' shoulder, the monotone noise drawing your attention away. You see Albert approaching your little group, and your eyes narrow. A frown spreads across your face, and you watch him take one of his gloves off. He throws it down in front of Tobias, who looks mildly amused but still wary. "I'd like to duel with you, to test your skill level myself."

Before Tobias can say anything, though, Xander steps forward. He drags his own glove off with his teeth before letting it fall on top of Albert's. "I'd like to issue my own challenge to you. I'm rather keen to see how you fight, rather than letting this one have all of the fun."

Albert looks taken aback by this, scowl strong once more. However, after seeing Byron nod, he manages to smooth his expression out and raises his chin, accepting the offer. "Fine. Let us see who is the more skilled."

Xander merely nods, eyes glittering with subtle malice. He steps up to the square. Neither of the knights take their jackets off, rather just drawing their swords and taking their stances. Xander inclines his head, asking, "Are we doing this formally, just to keep things interesting, then?"

"Yes. We shall duel as we are." They both bow, never taking their eyes from the other, before moving into defensive positions.

Byron decides to start this match, intending to see if the action annoys you. "Let the battle begin." You don’t react at all. Odd.

For a few seconds, the whole room is still and silent.

And then Xander breaks it, speaking a few simple but provoking words.

"Your confidence would be charming, were it real."

Albert freezes for a fraction of a second. His face contorts with rage.

"How dare you-" He cuts himself off as he lunges at Xander, slashing his sword in a perfect arc from above his head.

The latter twists out of the way and meets the swing, the force creating a loud clanging sound that reverberates through the room. Xander's sword slices to the side and then reels back, knocking Albert's sword up. Xander’s sword swiftly cuts through the air close to Albert's side. A growl rumbles out of the Steiner while he dodges the move, bounding forward and sending his sword straight at Xander's face.

The white-haired man just laughs darkly, throwing his head back to avoid the swing. "Such a fiery temper. It'll be the death of you one day, you know."

The words seem to break Albert's concentration. His expression collapses into one of vulnerability for the briefest of moments, and Xander doesn't waste any time in using it. He grabs Albert's hand and turns around to be stood in front of him, his back to Albert's chest. Before the latter can do anything to stop him, your bodyguard has tightened his grip on him and bent over.

And Albert is sent flying over Xander's body, hitting the ground with a painful thud.

Xander crouches over him, still restraining Albert's sword arm, before resting his own against the downed Steiner's throat. He smiles, the expression almost disturbing considering the vicious attack he just carried out, before speaking lowly. "You cannot allow emotions to interfere in a fight. It will be the undoing of you."

And then he has stood up and jumped back, away from Albert. He creates a safe distance between the two before turning around, returning to you calmly. You give him a proud smile and a nod for the clean performance, to which he just places his hand on his heart and bows again before standing at your side.

Byron doesn't have a comment to make this time. He's somewhat concerned about the fact that both of his most experienced and skilled knights were beaten, rather easily, in a matter of seconds. He starts to think that perhaps he hasn't trained his soldiers as effectively as he should have.

However, more knights start to propose duels after this, and soon many are going on at once. The score is pretty much even, with six wins to Stein and seven to Vinessia with two ties.

You’re proud of your knights, since they haven't been in this profession for very long and have only have a limited amount of training along with the revolution. You make sure to congratulate them as they finish and give them feedback so they can get better, walking around the fights and studying them while you do. Tobias and Xander remain with you when they're not in duels, making comments about the style of the Steiners and how they fight, as well as their attempts to mimic your knights' moves.

Byron has been watching you as you do this, his thoughts whirring. Your knights are trained very strangely, in a way that's almost very structured but at the same time completely adaptive. It's difficult to see what they will do, and he supposes that this is the weakness of Stein. It depends on knowledge and planning, and on being able to see what others will do before they have the chance to do it.

Now, that's been taken away from his knights, and they're struggling to adjust to it.

But this is good. It means that they will learn.

The thing is, though, that Byron very much wants to see your skill first-hand. He wants to see how far the stories of the demon warrior of the revolution are true.

It'd be an idiotic thing to do, but he's almost desperate to ask. He needs to know what he's up against.

"King Byron?" Nico's voice drags him out of his thoughts, and the monarch looks down at the smaller knight in response. He has recovered from earlier and won all of his matches, but Byron can sense that his confidence has been severely damaged from the loss. "Is something wrong?"

Byron just moves his gaze back to you, his expression guarded. "No," He answers. "I'm just considering something."

Nico immediately tenses up, not liking the implication behind Byron's words when paired with the look he is giving you. He is warier now, after being defeated so easily by Tobias and seeing Albert beaten by Xander. So, now, he watches his king worriedly, moving a bit closer on instinct.

Byron's eye remains on your wrist. There's something there, and from morbid curiosity as well as a healthy dose of paranoia, he wants to know what it is.

He doesn't want to wait around and be left to guess. He wants to know, and he wants to gain this information now. If anything is going to throw you off and expose you to him, it’s this, and he’s more than willing to break a few social expectations and rules to do it.

He moves away from the wall, the action drawing surprised looks from Nico and Albert. They quickly snap out of it and walk beside him while he approaches you at the side of the room. You are scrutinising one of your knights, who is duelling with a Steiner. You look over as he comes into your peripheral vision, seeing a difference in his body language. There is an aura of determination coming from him, and you can see a dark glint in his eye, which is focused completely on you.

"General ___." He speaks lowly, standing maybe a foot away. Tobias and Xander are tensed and ready for a fight, but they aren't prepared for the next words that come from him. "I have heard many rumours and whispers of your skills in fighting, and of how you performed during the revolution. I would love to witness these skills myself, and was wondering if you would duel with me."

He can see so much emotion being triggered in you as you comprehend what he is saying. Your body goes stiff, but in a way that conveys weakness from fear or panic. Your pupils have widened, and your eyes themselves show unease. You seem to be unable to respond for a moment, before you force yourself back to a composed state and answer,

"King Byron, I would not think it wise to do such a thing. I can make no promises that I will not injure you." He is mildly amused by this. Just from your size, in comparison to his, he thinks that it will be somewhat difficult for you to do him any damage. Still, he can't use logic with you, because you have already defied it many times in the brief time that he has known you for.

"That is not an issue. Like I said earlier, and as we agreed on, any injuries sustained here will be nothing but recreational. They will have no repercussions, nor will they be taken on a personal level. Besides, I am able to handle myself when in combat, so you needn't worry about dealing too much damage." His tone morphs into one of extremely subtle playfulness at this, since he takes your comment in a non-offensive way and is genuinely humoured by it.

However, he sees you turn your gaze to the side and a very light blush form in your face at this, your response coming out mumbled.

"I apologise. I didn't mean to imply that." You ignore the wild-eyed looks you are receiving from Tobias and Xander, sighing slightly. "Alright."

A very strange, very powerful surge of excitement shoots through Byron's chest at this. He finds himself smiling a little, and then he is nodding. He quickly realises that he can kill two birds with one stone by doing this. "Thank you. If you don't mind, I would ask that we do this informally, since it is more comfortable than the alternative.”

Your throat constricts, and you feel a throb of pain in your chest. He's manipulating this to allow him to work things out. "Of course. Let us prepare now, then."

He nods once more before walking away, to go and get ready for the duel. You quickly make your way to your knights' side of the room, where they have put their things. You unclip your cape but wait until Tobias and Xander have caught up to you, knowing they're going to try and talk you out of this.

And you're exactly right.

"___, you can't do this-"

"Do you have a death wish?”

"Enough." The snapped word cuts them off, and you glare at them both. You murmur to them, "I didn't have a choice. Saying no would have opened up the doors to a world of problems for both me and the country. I can't afford to risk anything like that. It's fine - even if I lose, I will have tried. Just let him do what he wants for now. It's to be expected in my situation."

You see them glance at each other, Tobias looking furious and Xander painfully worried. "But I can't let them see the blades. Stand on either side of me while I take them off."

The boys do as you say, albeit not happily at all. You take your cape off and lay it on one of the tables where belongings can be placed, then glance behind you. You see Byron taking his jacket off, his cape already detached, revealing a black, long-sleeved shirt underneath. You shake your head and take your sword belt off temporarily, then undo the buttons on your own military jacket. You slide it off, revealing the things that have saved your life more times than you can count.

Two mechanical blades, strapped and secured to both of your wrists. They work through a complicated structure inside that depends on the movement of your wrists in order to trigger the system. When you move them enough, the blades shoot forward, fast and sharp enough to pierce most bones and kill most opponents. They retract when the movement is reversed, allowing them to be hidden inside your sleeves.

You never go anywhere or do anything without them. They're too important to you, and are vital to your safety. Even when you sleep, you have one on, alternating wrists each night.

They are quite bulky, but fortunately can't really be seen with your military jacket on. However, the length of your sleeves means that as soon as they are pulled up your arm a bit, the blades become painfully obvious. That's why you've been trying to conceal your arms and wrists within your cloak, and why you panicked so much when Byron stared at your wrist outside the castle.

You hope he didn't see them. If he did, it could jeopardise the safety of your whole country.

You make quick work of unbuckling and taking the blades off, using Tobias and Xander as cover. You then place them on top of your cloak, folding it up to keep them hidden. You feel almost sick as you feel the air on your wrists. You shudder when you see the mark on the skin of your right one, deep and clear and full of dark memories, just under the sleeve of your black shirt.

Two letters. Two letters that will never leave your skin and remind you of one of the worst days of your life.

You shake your head at this, tugging the sleeve down and folding your jacket up as well. You decide to leave your dagger in your sword belt and then strap it back on, so that you can put your sword away quickly when you're done, or need to run away at some point.

You put your jacket on top of your cloak as extra protection for your blades, then turn to Xander. "Guard them. Don't let anyone see them." He nods, his eyes concerned but determined. You then look to Tobias, who is holding your sword out to you. You take it from him, nodding. "I'll be fine. It's okay."

You move away from them both before they can try to stop you again, seeing that the duels have stopped as the knights have noticed you and Byron getting ready. You don't react to this and simply walk to the centre square, where Byron is waiting, a long and somewhat wide sword in his hand.

Yours is smaller, you see, but the chances are that it’s stronger. It's made from a very rare material, which is much more durable than most others and deals more damage whilst remaining light. It's not very common nor well known, only occurring as far as you know in Vinessia, so hopefully Byron's sword has no traces of the element in it.

He gives you a small nod when you step up to the square, standing opposite him. "I appreciate this. As much as I am not fond of mindless fighting or duels without purpose, I admit that I am rather curious as to how dangerous you truly are."

You try not to feel intimidated by his large stature and obvious muscle mass when compared to yourself, muscled but much less so, and also not as tall as him. "I understand. However, you will unfortunately not see me at my most dangerous today, and hopefully not at any point in the future."

He raises an eyebrow. "I do hope you won't be holding back."

You have to give a little laugh at that, shaking your head. "Of course not. I'm just making sure that the way I fight is appropriate for the circumstances."

His expression becomes slightly suspicious at that, his eye narrowing. "I see. Shall we start the duel ourselves?"

"If you'd like." You tense your muscles up but make sure that they're not too tight, moving your left leg back so that it's ready for a quick dodge.

You aren't going to be the first to move.

Neither is Byron.

You exhale slowly, eyes hardening. Byron's stare becomes more calculating. He tenses his muscles.

_Let the battle begin._

You both stare at each other intensely, watching and waiting for movement from the other. Your swords are raised, ready to strike, but they remain still for at least twenty seconds. The knights, both Steiners and those of Vinessia, are studying the silent exchange with fascinated interest, most having never seen a duel between leaders before. Both you and Byron can hear them whispering amongst themselves, their comments and anticipated voices almost sharp amongst the silence.

"I've never seen a duel start like this!"

"Me neither! I wonder who'll move first!"

"Byron. He's just waiting for the right moment."

"No, ___. She's timing it, obviously."

"You're wrong! King Byron is far too strategic to just be waiting for her to move."

"Yeah, well, so is ___! Someone like her isn't the type to sit around!"

"Exactly. And, as we've seen already, the knights of Vinessia are trained far better than that of Stein."

Byron's focus falters at that. A twinge of anger, panic and pain shoots through his heart, and his eye snaps to the area where the comment was made from.

Before he can realise the possibly deadly mistake he has made, you have moved.

Your body lurches forward, your sword arcing down in a powerful swoop from your right, above your head. The speed of the attack is almost enough to catch Byron, but he manages to jump back before the metal makes contact. He quickly regains his focus and centres his attention on you, watching as you dance forward again. This time, you try a straight-forward stab at his chest, which he dodges before bringing his own sword at your exposed back.

You see the move coming, though, and drop into a sideward roll that allows you to avoid being hit. You rise again as Byron slashes at you, this time the blow aimed at your head. You throw your upper body back, rotating out of the way and then meeting the blow with your own sword. The clang of metal is loud and almost painful as it echoes through the room.

You can feel the sheer force as he pushes his sword against yours, and you quickly decide that you won't win by attacking. You need to wait for him to make a mistake.

He is also analysing the situation as he goes along. He can see that your assets are your speed and agility, but also your near-perfect reactions and responses. You're extremely adaptive, meaning that it'll be difficult to catch you off guard and do any damage. However, your strength is lesser than his, which gives him the advantage of being able to overwhelm you with force.

You both circle each other automatically, moving in a constant, steady rhythm that seems bizarre when one thinks about the suddenness of both of your attacks. It's too calm, too simple. But it's what you have been trained to do, and you are on the same page for once.

However, the frightening thing is that you are planning, both of you putting together a move calculated enough to destroy the other's defences.

You execute them at the same time.

Byron lunges forward and raises his sword, readying to hit you with a barrage of heavy attacks. You tense and go still for a fraction of a second. Then, as his weapon comes down at your body, you dart to the right. You bolt forward, swiping at his side and managing to just brush his shirt with the tip before he blocks the attack. This then leads you both into a fast-paced series of hits and dodges, and the other knights can barely keep up with you two as your swords become blurs, moving too fast for them to track.

Now, it's a game of endurance and concentration. You can't let yourself lose your momentum.

Neither can Byron. He isn't planning on it.

You know that Byron will rely on his strength to beat you, and that you won't be able to keep going forever, so you decide to change things up and throw him off. You wait until he has stabbed at your stomach. You move as quickly as possible, bolting straight at him, your side mere inches away from his blade.

You see his expression turn to one of shock, which makes you smirk, as you grab the handle of his sword in a crushing hold. You then use your sword arm to jump up and swing yourself over his back, which is leant forward from his attack. There is a gasp from the knights as you roll over him, dragging his arm behind him and causing it to click painfully. The position forces him to let go of his sword, since the alternative would be to dislocate his shoulder. You roll off his back, holding both swords, landing lightly.

This is where you make your own mistake.

You don't expect him to react straight away after being disarmed, and so you can only gasp as he throws himself at you, knocking you to the floor with enough force to wind you. The air heaves out of your lungs, pain bursting through your head and neck. Your vision goes black for a few seconds. You know you won't be able to keep hold of the swords once he tries to take them from you, and so you deliberately throw them away, too far for either of you to get. His eye narrows as he pins your wrists to the floor. You have seconds to do something.

You almost feel bad for doing this.

Almost.

You bring your knee up, feeling it collide very painfully with a certain place in Byron's pelvis. You see him gasp and wince, teeth clenching tightly, and waste no time in rolling him onto his back. You sit atop him, straddling his waist, and swing a fist down to punch him. He moves his head out of the way in time to dodge the hit, then returns the swing. You lean back swiftly, moving out of its path. You see that he is sitting up, probably planning on pushing you onto your back. You panic, knowing it'll near certainly be game over should he succeed.

So, you slam your left hand against his throat, his head forced back and onto the floor with a painful cracking sound. Your fingers wrap around his neck to keep him there, his left hand coming up to grip your forearm. He tries to remove them.

Byron knows this isn't going anywhere. He's in quite a lot of pain and is losing his composure quickly. So, he decides to throw away the rules and cheat just a little.

His free hand shoots down to his belt, where he has a dagger strapped to it. He grips it and pulls it out, the sound of metal on leather audible to you both, even with your laboured pants. Your pupils widen at the sound.

But then you do something he wasn't expecting, with the dagger he noticed on your own belt earlier.

_Two can play at this game. I'll not lose to a trick like this._

He brings his dagger up to your side, the blade pressing against your skin.

Yours is unsheathed, the tip digging into his heart in a split second.

You are both completely still for a few seconds, breathing hard and fast. You swallow, body rocking slightly where you sit on his middle, feeling his chest rising and falling under you quickly. Your eyes meet, and you see clear respect in his one orb as it studies your face. You convey the same emotion back while you nod to him. He returns the gesture, slowly retracting his dagger from your side.

The applause from both sides of the knights is deafening.

Ignoring the loud clapping and cheering, you remove your dagger from his chest, standing up and moving back. He stands as well, albeit slowly and carefully. You wince slightly, knowing you must have done quite a bit of damage when you kicked him and threw his head into the floor. "I apologise, King Byron-"

"Don't apologise." He stops you almost gently, a tiny smile ghosting over his lips. "I knew what I was risking when I issued the duel. It's minimal damage, so you need not worry about it. Are you alright?"

You nod, the pain in your head throbbing but bearable. "Yes, I am fine. Thank you."

He nods back once more, his voice softer amongst the applause, but you still hear his words. "Thank _you_ , for allowing me this fight. It has certainly allowed me to see what you are capable of."

Your expression turns sombre at this, your mind whispering that this is nowhere near what you can truly do, but you decide to just leave it. "Indeed."

You give a quick bow, backing up, before turning around. You pick up your sword, along with Byron’s, and briefly turn back to face him. You hold his sword out to him, and he gives you a small smile, reaching out for it. His fingers lightly brush over yours when he holds the handle, and you quickly let go, feeling a very strange prickling sensation skitter up your arm.

Trying to shake off the feeling, you nod in return, then head towards your things while you put your sword away. Your knights immediately surround you, clapping you on the back and congratulating you on your half victory. You thank them quietly, moving through them to get to your things. Tobias and Xander practically pounce on you when you reach them, with Xander trying to reach out and check for injuries whilst Tobias questions,

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you? He didn't stab you, did he?"

"I'm fine." You bat away Xander's hands, then gently push Tobias back before taking your sword belt off again. You ignore their persistent questions, trying to distract yourself from the throbbing in your skull. Your breathing has eased again, and you sigh slowly, forcing your heartbeat to settle while you strap your blades on once more. You then put your jacket and cape on, tidying your appearance, before turning around.

Byron has been doing the same as you, his mind reeling.

He never expected you to be able to hold your own against him, nor do as much damage as you did. He also didn't anticipate such a quick and sure reaction when he drew his dagger. He underestimated you, and it could have cost him quite dearly today had it ended differently. He now knows that you most definitely are talented and skilled to a lethal extent, and that he can't risk conflict with you.

Even if he was able to take your soldiers down and bring your country to its knees, there would be no guarantee that he could defeat you in a one-on-one fight.

He'll have to tread carefully from now on.

"King Byron, are you alright? You must see the doctor quickly - your head-" Albert's panicked voice sounds from the monarch's right, and he turns to the knight, interrupting his worries.

"Albert, I am quite alright. It was only an impact wound; I have already checked the skin for a break. You need not be so concerned about such a trivial thing." Albert doesn't look satisfied at all. He isn't, because with the force you pushed his head back with, there had to be a cut somewhere. He's also absolutely enraged at how you kicked him - it was a duel, not a common pub brawl.

Nico is very much torn now. He wants to dislike you for hurting Byron twice and threatening his life, but to be fair, Byron instigated the dagger exchange. Plus, he was the one who tackled you after being disarmed. As much as he hates that Byron fought you, and as much as it made him near hysterical to watch him have a blade pressed against his heart, the duel was useful to them. They now know your skill set and fighting style, and have seen what you're capable of.

Byron glances out of the window while he thinks, seeing the sky turning dark and knowing that it will be time for dinner soon. "Well," He announces, his voice instantly quietening the room. "I believe it will be dinner shortly.” He looks around his knights, his voice gaining a considerable air of authority, bearing down upon everyone in the room. “I would think it need not be said, but I would ask that everything that happened here remains in here.”

You nod, agreeing entirely. “Most definitely.” Your eyes snap around the room, settling on your knights’ faces. “No one is to breathe a word of this outside this room. Am I explicitly understood?”

There’s a series of nods and affirmations. Byron speaks again, satisfied that everything that happened will stay a secret. “General ___, if you would like to explore more of the castle or do something else for the next fifteen minutes or so, one of my knights will find you when the food is ready and escort you to dinner. Your knights may do as they please."

You nod at this. "I think I will take a look around the castle, if you don't mind. Thank you."

He nods back, and you incline your head before turning and making your way to the door. Before this, though, you glance at your knights, instructing them quietly, "Behave yourselves. Any ill manners or actions here will not be taken lightly, am I clear?"

This is responded to with bows and nods. Some of the knights sit down to rest, whilst some start to practice their skills or duel with one another again. You leave the room, hearing Tobias and Xander fall into step beside you.

They wait until you are a little away from the training grounds and into one of the corridors, and then Tobias speaks, grabbing your forearm painfully tightly. "___, what the hell was that? You could have gotten yourself killed, or worse-" He pauses when you pull your arm from his grasp, your expression frustratingly blank. You continue to walk. "___, stop ignoring me!"

You swivel around to face him as you stop walking, snapping back, "I already explained myself and my decision. Do me a favour and stop questioning the past - it's done with. It was a tie, and I've made it clear to them that I can handle myself even against Byron. That'll make life much easier for all of us in the future, regardless of how risky it was. Just get on with it."

Without waiting for him to react, you start walking again. You hear Xander talking to him, his tone soothing, but you keep going. You instead focus on mapping out the castle and learning its layout, taking in all the fine details of the corridors as you make logical turns. You eventually come to a set of spiral stairs in the corner of one corridor, with a knight stood nearby. Seeing your look while you take in the stairs, he explains respectfully,

"These stairs lead to the roof and the castle's towers, General ___. There are four sets at the corners of the castle, and you may go up if you wish to. The town is very beautiful to look at from such an elevated position."

Your curiosity spikes at this. You quite like looking out at landscapes, especially at the sky and mountains, and decide that it wouldn't hurt to have a look. Just as you start to make your way up, Tobias and Xander round the corner, watching you confusedly.

"I'm going to have a look at the town - the roof is at the top of these stairs, and the towers." Without saying anything else, you continue up the stairs, your cape fluttering behind you like a ghost. The winding of the spiral is almost dizzying, but it's oddly entrancing, the constant turning and ascending calming you in a strange way.

It takes you a few minutes, and your calves are somewhat strained by this point, but you get to the roof. There is a separated flat part that can be walked on, and then the slated parts, which are triangular and positioned symmetrically. You smile a little, feeling the chill of the wind whipping against your face. You wander over to the edge of the roof, absently pulling your gloves on when your fingers protest at the cold. You had them on earlier but took them off upon entering the castle, and put them in your jacket in case you'd need them again.

When they're on, you rest your hands against the raised edges of the room, which have slate on the tops. You then let out a gentle breath, expression softening at the beauty before you.

The sky is a very soft, but also very fiery orange at the bottom, the sky kissing the horizon and the silhouettes of the mountains in the distance. The fire fades as you look up, seeing the colour transition into a deep, indigo blue that swallows the light as it descends on the sun. Stars are shining very faintly above you, dusted across the sky like the most breathtaking piece of art ever to be seen. You watch Stein bustling below you, the gentle lights of civilisation bright enough to compliment the stars but small enough to not overpower nature.

You find yourself leaning forward, your forearms resting on the slate. Eyes closed for a moment, you listen to the howling of the wind and the quiet sound of Stein below you.

Behind you and to your right, you hear Tobias and Xander come up the stairs. They are quiet but not silent as they approach, and you don't even need to open your eyes to know who is where. Xander is on your left, and Tobias on your right. Xander, your voice of reason and kindness. Tobias, fact and protection. You don't know what you'd do without them. Christ, you wouldn't be _able_ to do anything without them, because they saved your life all that time ago, when no one else was there to help you.

"___," Tobias' voice breaks you out of your dull thoughts, his tone much more controlled than earlier. "I'm sorry. I know you didn't want to fight him. I just... I just get so worried about you. I can't stand the thought of someone touching you, and hurting you no less.”

You find yourself smiling a little at that, your eyes opening just enough to glance at him from the side. He's watching the town below, but you can see that he looks embarrassed, a slight blush in his cheeks. He avoids looking at you. "I know. I'm sorry I just ran into it, but I didn't have much time to explain it all. I shouldn't have lost my temper with you so quickly. I was stressed and nervous, so it was more my fault than anyone else's."

He shakes his head at that, looking down at you. "It wasn't anyone's fault but Byron's, for asking you to duel. What an arrogant, insensitive prick."

You let out a little laugh at that. "What can you expect from a king, and a young one at that?"

"Fuck all, that's what." His language makes you smirk. It's not very widely accepting, swearing, but he has no problem with doing it. To be honest, you don't have the cleanest mouth yourself, and you're proud of it. You speak the way you want to speak, and nothing will change that.

"Are you sure you're alright? It looked like you took a hard hit when he threw you down." You look to Xander now, seeing him eyeing your head with concern. You raise your hand to prod at it, feeling it to be a bit tender and still pounding but not actually cut open. You nod, lowering your hand again.

"Yeah, it's okay. A bit sore, but otherwise I'm fine. I've had worse." He lifts his hand up to very delicately touch the back of your head, and you try not to wince when his fingers brush over the skin. He makes a face, murmuring,

"What a bastard. I've never heard of a leader duelling with another, especially not in front of their knights." He frowns now, moving a piece of hair from your face before letting his hand return to his side. "Hopefully he might ease up a bit on you now. If not, I might see if I can have a word with him myself."

You smile, but under it your voice becomes warning. "Very funny. Seriously, don't. Just leave it alone."

Tobias just lets out a huff, leaning on the slate like you were before. You shake your head, deciding to have a quick look up the tower before you are taken to dinner. You make your way over and go up the stairs, the boys following behind you as always.

At the top, there are four white, stone columns holding up the blue top. You're higher than before and shiver a little as the wind picks up, wrapping your cape around yourself. You then make your way over to the edge, where there is a railing that comes up to your waist. You grin softly, hopping up onto the top and leaning back against the column. You keep one leg hooked over the inside in case you need to pull yourself back over, then sit there for a few minutes, not opening your eyes even as the boys come up again.

However, you do get down when you hear footsteps coming up the tower, and a Steiner knight comes up. "Dinner is ready, General ___. If you will, I will escort you to the dinner hall."

He does exactly this, taking you down and through the castle. Xander huffs about halfway there, murmuring to you, "We don't have dinner with you, apparently. However, they did say we can stay in the room while you and Byron eat, since he'll have his bodyguards with him."

This sends a bolt of anger through your heart. How disgusting, to not allow the people who risk their lives for your own, to eat in the same room as you. And to not even let your bodyguards eat with you, even though your life is owed to them for so many things.

_Typical royals. They have their noses too high in the air to even see anyone else._

You scowl at this, to which Xander just smiles at you. You shake your head, muttering back, "Go and have something to eat. You both must be starving - just go and get something with the others. I'll be fine on my own." 

His pupils widen marginally at this. "We can't leave you with them-"

"Yes, you can. And you will. Would it not be a show of strength to be able to face them alone?" He thinks on this for a moment. Tobias is watching him, having decided to listen in on the conversation.

"Well, yes. But it may also be seen as an idiotic and arrogant move." That's true, but the alternative is unfair and not, in your eyes, acceptable. You'll not allow your best friends to suffer for the sake of reputation and appearance.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take. Go, both of you. That's an order, since I know you're going to insist on staying with me." You feel Tobias' glare on the side of your head and smirk slightly, but nonetheless Xander sighs, then nods. Before Tobias can stop him, he has grabbed the other knight's jacket at the back, dragging him away from you and forcing them both to stop in the corridor.

No more than maybe thirty seconds later, you come upon a large set of doors, which are opened by two knights as you approach. Inside the room, you see a long, large dinner table, which probably has thirty or so seats on it. Cutlery and crockery are set out in two places, opposite each other.

One of the places is already taken up by Byron as he sits there, arms resting on the sides of his chair. He watches you closely when you enter, seeing that you are lacking your usual bodyguards. He narrows his eye. Why aren't they with you?

The knight takes you over to the seat, pulling it out for you. You bite back the urge to glare at him, instead nodding and sitting down. You meet Byron's gaze across the table, your expression stoic.

"Did you enjoy your exploration of the castle?" You are slightly taken aback by the light question, but you answer regardless, tone polite.

"Yes, I did. I was able to go up to the roof and one of the towers, which was a beautiful sight to behold. Thank you." He nods back at this, satisfied. His expression quickly becomes blank again, though, as he continues, wanting to further test your resolve and ability to remain calm under pressure.

"And where are your bodyguards? I have seldom seen you separated from them. They could have come in here with you." It takes a large portion of your willpower to not be insulting when you respond.

"I told them to go and get something to eat. I saw little point in having them in here."

Byron can sense the annoyance and intolerance you feel towards him and his ways. There is a very, very subtle hint of challenge in your voice, daring him to justify himself.

Challenge accepted.

"And why was that? Why did you see no reason for their presence?" His voice is almost curious as he asks this, with a mix of even challenge as well. This tells you that you need to be cautious, and that he's monitoring your words closely.

"I saw no reason because they haven't eaten since this morning and have been riding all day, and so they are quite hungry. If they were in here, they wouldn't have been able to eat and it is, to me, not fair to bring them in when I am going to be eating and they won't."

For a moment, all Byron can do is stare at you.

So, you'd rather leave yourself completely alone with at least four potential attackers in the room (in the unlikely circumstance of something going wrong), and so very much vulnerable to injury or death, just for the sake of making sure that your bodyguards are getting something to eat? Where is the logic in that? Yes, it's not very fair to do that to the bodyguards, but they enter into such conditions when they accept the job.

"What if you were attacked in an instance like this? What if someone made an attempt on your life, and you had no allies to fall back on?" He gives you the scenario to test your ability to stay composed under interrogation, and to try to lessen your confidence in your thinking.

But you speak simply, honestly, no hesitation at all in your voice.

"Well, in any situation where I had no one with me, I would simply have to fight for and defend myself. There are no other alternatives than that, and I can do that more than well enough. In this situation, I suppose I would have to do the same. However, it would be a more pressing matter as to who is attacking me and how they were able to get through the castle's defences in the first place, assuming that the move wasn't pre-emptive."

You've got him.

_He walked into that one._

Behind Byron, Nico and Albert are stood obediently and silently, listening to the conversation. A deep scowl forms of Albert's face at this, and Nico presses his lips together, stuck between frowning and laughing. The remark was quite sassy and unexpected from you, but also somewhat disrespectful. He's not sure how Byron will react to this.

Said monarch is responding in a way he didn't think he would.

He's actually quite amused by what you said.

"That's very true." He decides to not make the dinner any more intense or uncomfortable than it already is, and so he motions to the knight at the end of the table to bring the food out. "I assure you, though, that no harm will come to you from myself nor my knights. We are not interested in igniting another war or conflict."

"And we appreciate that." Your response is clipped, eyes distrustful again as you add, "But we cannot let our guard down, unfortunately. Harm does not come solely through war or conflict."

That shocks Byron a little. He thought you were starting to warm up to the nation and so him, but it seems that your perspective hasn't changed much. He wonders what has happened to make you so disbelieving of the simplest of things. Yes, Stein is known for its power and its history of annexing countries (as Byron's grandfather did when in power) but after the exile of the disgrace that was Byron's father, and the coaxing of Wysteria to enter into diplomatic nations surrounding Stein, it has done nothing but encourage healthy, productive relations.

He wants no war, nor to annex any more countries. He wants Stein to grow and prosper, of course, but not at the expense of another nation and its people.

"That's unfortunate," He responds, resting his face on his knuckles. "And not the best outlook for helping your country to gain relations with others. Although caution is definitely necessary, I don't think it will achieve anything to hold back at all times and trust no one."

You have to admit that he's right about that. You are probably being too careful, more out of your own paranoia and trust issues, and you need to change. It's not going to allow Vinessia to reach its full potential any time soon. "Fair point."

The waiters and waitresses come in at this point, fortunately, and the conversation ends. You wait while they set the food down, something you've never seen before and assume is exclusive to Stein. You thank them when they leave, earning bows and bright smiles, before you look back to Byron. He has his eye narrowed again.

And it's because of your insistence on acting as if you are worth no more than anyone else that's making him do it. You're a general, for God's sake; you are already worthy of higher treatment because of your achievements and are not expected by the servants to be kind. So, why? Why do you keep acting like this? It's both confusing and strange, which equals to extremely frustrating for Byron, an emotion he’s not felt very often in his life.

He'll find out why. He's determined to.

Dinner comes and goes without much more talk, both you and Byron criticising and analysing each other as you both eat, whilst Nico and Albert watch on almost uncomfortably. The air is tense and almost electrified with silent communication, the challenges being issued between the both of you lingering like smoke.

And then it's over, and Byron stands, you doing the same.

"The food was delicious, King Byron. Thank you." You give a shallow bow, to which he nods, a small smile on his face.

"You are most welcome. I am glad you enjoyed it." He motions for you to follow him out of the dining room, which you do, feeling Albert and Nico trailing behind the two of you. "You can do whatever you wish for the remainder of the night, but please do not stay in the corridors after midnight. Although I doubt you would have reason to, I would also ask that you stay away from my knights' barracks unless there is an emergency. However, if there is, I would prefer for you to come to me first."

You nod at this. "Of course. I think I will go and see that my knights are happy, and then I will retire to my room."

He nods back, replying, "Good."

You incline your head before heading down the corridor, since he will go down one on the left to go to his study. You feel the eyes of the three Steiners burning into your back as you walk, but you force your pace to remain steady until you round the corner. When you're out of their sight, you heave out a breath and walk faster, making a beeline for the barracks where your knights are staying.

It takes only a few minutes to reach them, and you let out a sigh of relief without thinking upon seeing them all, inside the joint dining room. Many different rooms, presumably bedrooms, line the walls of the dining room, and there are chairs and tables set up for the knights to eat at. They are all content, it seems, from the many empty plates and cups.

You smile at the sight of them, and several of them notice your presence shortly after. "___!" One of them shouts, beaming and bounding over to you. "Was dinner okay? Did they try anything?"

You chuckle at him curiousness, patting his shoulder. "No, they didn't. It was a bit tense but otherwise it was fine."

He nods at this, grinning. Tobias and Xander have stood up now, and they approach you quickly, the latter asking quietly, "What did he say about us not being there? Did he even notice?"

You nod, expression impassive. "Yes, but I just told him straight why I told you both to come here. I think it shook his ivory tower a bit."

Tobias grins at that, laughing out, "That's our ___!" His smile fades, though, as he adds, "But seriously, don't do that again. All I wanted to do the whole time was run back and drag you away from them."

"As much as I appreciate the violent sentiment," You respond, frowning a little. "I can handle myself. He said that no harm would come to any of us while we are here, and although that means nothing, I think we're alright for the time being. I wasn't in any significant danger through the whole thing, and I was well equipped to defend myself should it have gone south."

He nods, looking away. You let out another quiet chuckle at this, lifting your hand to hold the side of his face. "Oi," You draw his gaze back to you, feeling his skin warming under your touch. You pat his cheek lightly, playfully. "I'm safe. Stop worrying. We'll be out of here tomorrow."

You then drop your hand, proceeding to go around your knights and check that they're all okay. Upon finding yourself satisfied with their conditions, you decide to leave and get some sleep, bidding them all a goodnight before you go.

It's not midnight yet, probably only about eleven, and so you don't rush yourself through the corridors. You instead take the time to appreciate the intricate décor of the walls and ceiling as you travel through the corridors, reaching your room after a few minutes.

You go and sigh, muscles relaxing a little. Looking around, you see that two sets of clothes have been laid out on your bed neatly, consisting of black tops and fitted pants, along with underwear - which disturbs you greatly - and a corset.

_Really? Idiots. As if I'm going to wear that._

With a shake of your head, you head into the bathroom to have a look around, and you pause when you see that the bath is full. Testing the temperature of the water, you find it to be quite hot. Upon further inspection of the room, you find a jug with cold water, presumably in case the water in the bath is too warm.

Deciding to have a bath, since you haven't had any time to really let yourself relax properly through the stress of the day and particularly of fighting Byron, you get to work with unstrapping your blades from your wrists, placing them under the pillows on the bed. You then unclasp your jacket and the latches on your belt, shrugging them off before putting them on top of the cover. This leaves you in your shirt and pants, along with your boots, which you take off next. Breathing a sigh of relief at having all of the extra weight off you, you go into the bathroom, closing the door and taking your top and pants off.

As you go to take your bindings off, which you wear to make running easier and less painful, you catch sight of your body in the full-length mirror stood next to the bath.

You stop for a moment, a frown quickly forming on your face. Your eyes take in the sorry state of it.

_There’s so many scars. So many marks. So much proof of how cruel humans can be._

Before you have time to think of all of the things you hate about it, you force your eyes away and take your bindings and underwear off.

Upon sinking into the warmth of the water as it surrounds you, all of your limbs go limp, recognising the conditions as those of safety and security. Your muscles soften and the tension is ridded from your form as your head tips back, falling against the ceramic. Your eyes drift closed as you listen to the gentle movements of the water around you, feeling its softness as the liquid caresses your skin.

A deep, flowery scent is rising from the water, you notice, and the aroma is almost intoxicating, filling your senses with a heavenly, strong smell. You find yourself smiling while you lie there, basking in the tranquillity of the bath as the lovely scent encases you.

You don't know how long you spend there, but not soon after this, you feel yourself succumbing to exhaustion swiftly, your eyelids becoming more and more difficult to open. So, you make quick work of washing your hair and scrubbing at your body with the lotion and dermatological stones lined up along the side of the bath, trying to do your best to get the old and damaged skin from your limbs.

When you finish, though, you are stunned by the smooth, soft texture of the new tissue. The sites of old scars and wounds that were rough are much less noticeable than before. A silly little smile plays on your lips, and you trace your fingers over the skin, like an infant feeling something new in its hands.

You get out when you're done, heaving yourself from the water and taking your time as you dry off. You towel-dry your hair a little as well, until it's damp but not dripping, and then quickly change into the underwear on your bed before putting your binder back on. You do it looser now, though, so that it is supporting rather than restricting you.

You tug the pants on as well, feeling them to be not too tight but still streamlined and not baggy, before picking up the blade for your left wrist; you wore your right one last night. Strapping it on, you sigh and reach for the top, but you pause as your eyes pass over the marks on your wrist.

A frown works its way onto your face, your lips turning down. Your raise your left hand to trace the pads of your fingers over the marks, your body almost immediately panicking and rejecting the memories of what and who gave you them. They are two little letters, and to anyone other than you, Xander and Tobias, they would mean absolutely nothing, or one would only be able to lucky-guess their value. To you, though, their worth is substantial; they are the reminder of something that will never, ever leave you.

SL

The letters make you want to be sick. You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head at the flash of images that whirl through your mind's eye.

_Stefan Lineal. Hurt. Fear. Murder. Death. Torture. Betrayal. Deception. Darkness. No escape. Can't get out. So much blood-_

"General ___?"

You are jerked from your mental suffering by Byron's voice as it sounds through the door, accompanied by a knock. Your pupils expand with shock as you go still, staring at the door.

Firstly, you are not dressed, which is an issue in itself.

Secondly, your blades are in plain view of the door.

Thirdly, you forgot to lock the door in your exhaustion.

_Fuck. I'm dead. He's going to kill me._

"Wait-"

You start to call out for him to not come in, reaching for your shirt, but before you can put it on, he enters the room. Your breath catches in your throat, pain and alarm exploding in your chest and making your heart beat wildly. Your face shows your horror as you stand there, watching his reaction. Swallowing your pride for the sake of your life and potentially Vinessia's, you raise your hands, blurting out,

"Byron, please-"

Three things happen all at once, very, very quickly.

One thing is that a light tinge of pink rises in his cheeks, and for a second there is surprise on his face.

Then, his eye hones in on the blade on your wrist, and a deep, hostile scowl forces its way through his composure slightly as he realises what he is seeing.

Lastly, he lunges forward, the door shutting behind him. He heads straight for you.

Before you can even stop him, he is in front of you and his hand has shot out, fingers wrapping around your throat and forcing you backwards. He pushes you against the wall roughly, the breath rushing out of you in a gasp. Your head hits the stone, causing weakness and pain to blister through your skull. He grips your left wrist and pins it next to your head, against the wall, and then leans in close and asks,

"What's this? So, you're here to kill someone?" You try your best to ignore the aching, hot agony in your throat as his fingers crush the muscles in it, squeezing tighter with each passing second. You manage to shake your head, looking him in the eye.

"No, I'm not here to hurt anyone, nor to kill anyone. They're nothing but protection for me - they keep me safe, so I wear them all the time." He narrows his eye at this. Although he wants to believe you, there isn't much logic in your excuse.

"So why put them on now, at night? What's the point?" He questions you again, watching as you hiss in a breath, then rasp out your answer.

"For the same reason that you, and probably all of your knights and nobility, sleep with your sword in your room, or a dagger or two next to your bed, or a knife under your pillow. Paranoia. I've got a lot of people after me that want me dead, and I have no intention of letting them get what they want. I don't plan on dying any time soon."

This makes him pause for a moment, considering the evidence he has. Up until this point, your actions have seemed genuine and there were no contradicting points to suggest you had ill intent as the leader of Vinessia. It makes sense, although it's a tad strange.

He is almost certain that you're not a murderer, because he saw the look in your eyes when he entered the room. There was fear in them, but not the type of fear that says someone is worried for their own life. It was a look of lost hope, of someone silently screaming in terror at the prospect of something bad happening as a result of their actions. He's seen the looks of others in this exact situation, and none looked anything like you.

"Besides," Your voice is getting worryingly weaker now. "I haven't used these since the revolution, and that was minimal at best. If I had been planning on killing anyone, why wouldn't I have done it already? Even if it was you I was after, I've had more than enough optimal chances to kill a good amount of people in this castle, yourself included. I have no intentions of murdering anyone. I've seen enough of it in my life to last me ten more."

As he contemplates this, he raises his eyes, watching you wince and choke in his grip, his fingers now doing considerable damage to the tendons in your neck. A bolt of shame strikes deep in his heart at the sight, and he loosens his grip slightly, enough to let you get in a breath. You gasp in all the air you can, coughing weakly, but Byron barely notices. His eye is fixed on the quickly worsening red handprint on your throat, the otherwise unblemished skin there now bruising from the pressure he exerted on it.

_I’m acting like Gerald. What am I doing?_

Glancing at the blade on your wrist, he weighs the evidence up, other thoughts plaguing his mind.

_I shouldn’t have reacted like that. Why did I?_

He lets go and steps back.

Your hands quickly come up to cradle your aching throat, and your breath wheezes in and out of you. Your body trembles, barely able to support itself as you lean against the wall. You cough more violently now, tears threatening to pour from your eyes, but you blink them away while you use your hair for cover. Your muscles are about ready to give up, the lack of oxygen in them preventing them from working correctly.

You let out another string of coughs, letting your body slide down the wall to prevent yourself from falling completely. You stay there for a moment, trying to get your vision back from the blackness that it currently is.

Byron is regretting acting so rashly now. Seeing you lower yourself to the floor, still gasping desperately for breath, he decides to abandon his pride and be a decent person, someone thing he's usually not. He’s never lashed out like that, so violently and in such a hostile manner, and it almost frightens him. It reminds him of Gerald.

"I apologise." He murmurs the words as he crouches down next to you, seeing you jump and flinch ever so slightly. His heart twinges again. "Put your arms around my neck."

Your head flies up, eyes meeting his with obvious shock and distrust. "Wh-what?"

He smiles a bit at your expression. "It's not comfortable on the floor. I was going to put you on the couch."

You stare at him for a moment, then quickly try to get yourself out of the situation. "I can do it myself- I... there's no need to-"

He sighs at your attempt to take care of yourself; he just practically made sure you can't, at least for a few minutes.

He cuts you off by putting his arms under your legs and back, lifting you into his arms with ease. You go to protest, only to be thrown into another fit of coughs and chokes. He wastes no time in walking to the couch, setting you down on the soft material.

It's then that his attention is brought back to the fact that you have no top on, only chest bindings which allow him to see your stomach and shoulders, as well as the upper section of your chest.

Before his gaze moves away from you completely, he notices a large, messy scar on the lower left section of your abdomen, worryingly long and deep, from the discolouration in the surrounding skin. It also looks new, and like it hasn't healed properly. Along with this, a plethora of scars and marks adorn your body, all over your arms and sides, up to the area surrounding your neck.

He quickly looks away, now determined to find out who you are and what happened to you. He goes over to the bed and picks up the shirt on it, taking it over to you and setting it down next to you while you get your breathing in control. He then goes into the bathroom and fills the goblet in there with water, returning to you afterwards.

You have just finished putting the top on and glance up at him when he comes in, seeing him offer you the goblet. You take it with a nod, letting the cold water slide down your throat and soothe the aching a little bit. You wince as your muscles sting, protesting at your use of them so soon after being damaged.

"Tell me who you are." Your gaze comes up to meet his, pupils dilating slightly. Your muscles tense up. "I won't breathe a word of your past to anyone, that I swear on my life. But I want to know who you are and everything that you can tell me about your life."

Worry grips your heart for a moment as he says this, but you inhale deeply, knowing there's nowhere to run from the inevitable. "Okay." You nod, curling up against the edge of the couch and staring at your knees. "Where do you want me to start?"

Byron smiles at your cooperation, thinking that you wouldn’t be willing to tell him if you were lying, since it would be likely that he’d disprove what you’d say. He sits back on the couch. "From the beginning. Go back to your childhood, and work forwards from there."

There's a dullness in your eyes as you hear this, but you don't protest, rather just sighing out in defeat, "The beginning, then."


	4. Part IV | Taken

**†** **♛** **†**

**_Everything from here, until I make it obvious it's stopped, is an iteration of your telling of your past to Byron. So, you're actually telling him all of this, but you are reading it now like you're reliving it._ **

**†** **♛** **†**

_ "Mama, where's papa?” _

_ Your young voice sounds from the doorway of your house's kitchen, a gentle breeze blowing in from outside. You cradle a cat in your arms as you stand there, your four-year-old self small but full of life. You keep the cat held close to you, hugging it to your brown coat. It purrs contentedly in your gentle hold. _

_ "Papa?" Your mother turns around from the table, answering you with a soft smile. "He'll be back soon, ___. He'll finish his work in a little while, and then he'll be home." _

_ Your head bobs up and down, and you beam at her, humming out, "Okay!" _

_ You then go back outside and sit on the grass, watching the cat sit in your lap and rub its head into your hands. You giggle, stroking it gently. It's a stray from the town, but it often comes to your house and lets you play with it or keep it warm while it sleeps.  _

_ You look up at the town, your house a little way away from the centre of it, just outside the woods bordering the country. You see troops of soldiers marching about, weapons ready, as they bark out orders. Some of them don't like their jobs, you've realised, even at your tender age. They are unhappy as they walk around, and look upset when the people in the town get into trouble with the other guards over tiny problems. _

_ The captains are mean, for the most part. Your father is one of them, but he's kind, along with his two friends, but many of the others are frightening and cruel to some of the other people. _

_ You don't like them very much. Father says they're not real guards, since they don't care about the people that they're supposed to protect. _

_ Your thoughts immediately stop when you see your father emerge from behind one of the houses, walking up the road to you. You grin widely and put the cat on the floor, then start to run to him, knowing your mother doesn't mind. Your father looks very strong in his uniform, black and shiny with a crimson cape. He laughs lightly as you approach him, kneeling down and opening his arms, his hair hanging in front of his eyes a little. _

_ You jump into his arms when you reach him, and he swings you up before hugging you to his side. "Hello, ___! How is my brave little girl doing?" _

_ "I'm good!" You respond to his question brightly, hugging his neck and pressing your face into his. "How are you, papa?" _

_ "I'm absolutely fine, darling. How is mama?"  He starts to walk again now, heading back for your house with you perched on his hip. _

_ "She's really happy! I finished my book and started the next one, so she was really proud of me!" You boast your achievement to him, smiling away, and he grins back as he kisses your forehead. _

_ "And so she should be. You're really clever, ___, and the knowledge that you are getting now will help you all the way through your life." He reaches the house now and goes in through the back door, closing it behind him. Your mother looks over when he comes in, and a loving smile spreads across her lips, seeing you smiling, held in your father's arms. _

_ "Hello, my love. How are you?" Your father greets your mother, walking over to her with an adoring look and then bringing her in for a hug. She returns the affection, reaching up to stroke your hair. _

_ "I am wonderful, my dear. How was work?" His smile fades a little at that, the light in his eyes dimming. _

_ "It was alright." He glances down at you, shaking his head slightly and grinning again. "Now, little one, why don't you go and get that book you just started and read a bit more of it? I'll come and read with you in a moment, but I just need to talk to mama first, okay?" _

_ You nod enthusiastically, even though, at your age, you can sense that something is wrong. You let him put you down, then run into the living room to pick up the book. You quickly make your way to the door to the kitchen, holding the book tightly to your chest and hiding behind the frame. _

_ "What happened?" You hear mother say. _

_ There is a beat of silence. "They're becoming more hostile with us, and the civilians. He's practically tyrannical in his rule now. There are curfews and controls on what people can say. Even little things are now punishable by lashings, and moderate offences can give death penalties." _

_ You hug the book to you closer, not liking the upset tone in father's voice. Despite not knowing many of the words he uses, you can work out what he means when he mentions death penalties.  _

_ "Do they know about the plans to get him off the throne?" Your mother asks. _

_ "Not as far as we know, but they're onto us being defiant towards him, and the guard in general. It's getting dangerous." Your father responds quietly, almost too low to hear. _

_ You go to the living room quietly now, sitting down and opening the book. Father comes in after a few moments, his armour gone, leaving him in a black tunic and pants with his boots. He smiles at you, sitting next to you. He pulls you onto his knee, chirping brightly, as if he hadn't been talking so seriously mere seconds ago, "So, shall we?" _

_ You read with father for about an hour, at which point mother calls you into the dining room for dinner. Father picks you up and puts you on one of the chairs at the table, setting your plate down in front of you. You grin, having nearly forgotten the earlier unease you felt, and then start to eat as mother and father talk about casual matters. They frequently praise you for your reading skills and quickly-developing vocabulary, making you feel proud and happy while you eat. _

_ You've all just finished when there's a knock at the door. Father's head snaps up, and his whole demeanour hardens. He stands up. He still has his sword belt on, hanging loosely around his hips, and his eyes are sharp behind his hair. He turns to mother, nodding to her and holding a hand up. She quickly rises, her dress swishing around her. She picks you up and holds you against her side while father goes to the door. You strain to listen to who it is, since you can't see him anymore. _

_ "Captain, I apologise for calling so late. May I have a brief word with you? This is a rather urgent matter." A deep, strong voice says, and the many tones in it make your nerves rattle within you. You grip mother's dress, clinging onto her tighter. _

_ "Of course, Your Majesty. Please, come in. I apologise for the mess - we were just finishing our dinner." _

_ Your Majesty? It must be the king! _

_ You hear your father walk into the living room after the door shuts, and many footsteps follow him. There is a thoughtful hum, and then the king comments, "This is a lovely house. Very quaint, but comfortable. I imagine it's perfect for your family." _

_ Your father answers this, his own voice a little terser. "Yes, we love it here. It's a quiet area, so it's very peaceful." _

_ There is a chuckle from the king. "And where are they, your family? You have a wife and daughter, don't you?" _

_ There is a pause, and then father speaks, sounding uncomfortable. "They are in the dining room. Would you like to meet them?" _

_ The king must have nodded. You hear father clear his throat, and then he comes to the dining room door, giving mother a warning look. "Come. His Majesty wishes to meet you both." _

_ Mother shakes a little, then swallows and kisses your forehead. Father holds his hand out, and she takes it with her free one before she enters the living room. _

_ Inside, there are two guards, heavily armoured and just as well armed. Between them is a man, with jet black hair that is pulled to the side and cut jaggedly, accentuating his pale skin and grey eyes. He has a strong body set, with a sharp jawline and prominent muscles in his chest and arms. He wears an intricately decorated military uniform, as black as his hair, and has a dagger and sword hanging from his belt. You guess that he might be around thirty, maybe a bit younger. _

_ The king. _

_ He smiles upon seeing you and mother, and the latter curtseys respectfully when father stops, letting go of his hand. "Welcome, Your Majesty." _

_ His smile widens, and he nods. His gaze looks kind, but something feels off about the way he is watching her. "Thank you. I have been looking forward to meeting you; your husband is one of my best captains." He turns his eyes to you, and you almost shrink back at the intensity of his stare. "Ah, so this is your daughter." _

_ Your mother nods, smiling. "Yes, this is ___." _

_ You manage a small wave, remembering that you have to be very careful when you talk to royals. "Hello, Your Majesty." _

_ He blinks, continues to watch you for a moment, and then he breaks into chuckles. "How very sweet. She is well mannered and spoken, too! Wonderful, especially at such a tender age." _

_ Father nods, reaching up to briefly touch your cheek with a smile. "Yes, she truly is an exceptional little girl. She's forever eager to learn." _

_ The king nods back, his eyes narrowing with an expression that says he's made his mind up about something. He looks back at father, then sighs slightly. "Most definitely." His expression flattens now. "However, I am afraid my visit is not entirely for the purpose of visiting your family. It has been brought to my attention that you, and several others in the military, have... shall we say, grievances with the way I run this country. I am aware that you are all rather dissatisfied with my rule." _

_ Father freezes on the spot, and mother's arms tighten around you. Father quickly recovers, shaking his head. "My King-" _

_ The king just holds up his hand, though, and his words are stopped short. "Please, do not insult my intelligence by trying to lie to me. I have proof of your treason, and am here to punish you for it. If you resist, it will only be worse for you all." _

_ You've never felt such horrifying, gut-wrenching fear in your life. _

_ The king smiles, but now, it's evil, and cruel, and you know that you were right. "Bring him to me." _

_ The guards lurch forward, grabbing father's arms and dragging him forward. He growls and rips an arm free, reaching for his sword, and pulls it out before swinging at the guards. They quickly restrain him, overpowering him completely, before taking his sword from him and kicking him in the back of his knees, dropping his sword on the ground. He cries out as he falls to his knees, and one of the guards presses his sword to father's back as he drags his head back.  _

_ The king steps up close to him now, drawing his sword and resting the tip against father's throat. Mother gasps, letting out a strangled cry. She puts you down and pushes you behind her. Looking around her dress, you see the guard restraining father whip around, narrowing his eyes at her. He pushes his sword harder against father's back. _

_ "Dear me. Here I was, thinking that I could trust you." The king sighs, then shrugs, a small smirk crossing over his lips. "But evidently I cannot. What must be done, must be done." _

_ He lifts his gaze, meeting mother's for a fleeting moment. "Goodbye." _

_ And then he slices his blade across father's neck, and the room is painted with his blood. _

_ A shrieking cry of anguish and horror escapes mother, and she lurches forward, picking up father's sword and arcing it down at one of the guards. He swerves out of the way before punching her hard in the stomach, sending his sword across her abdomen. She screams as she collapses to the ground, her dress quickly turning crimson. She shouts at you, her voice desperate and agonised, _

_ "Run, ___! Run away from here! Go, be safe-" _

_ She is cut off as the guard kicks her in the head, and then father falls onto the floor next to her, his throat slit open deeply. His blood quickly pools on the floor around them both. His body twitches and he chokes. Finally, after a second, he goes silent, and the only noise in the room is your mother's sobs.  _

_ Knowing that he could kill you too, your turn from your mother. Your heart breaks at the thought of leaving her to probably die, but you turn and bolt out of the room. _

_ Your vision is blurred with tears when you reach the front door, and you are about to open it when you are grabbed by the arm, then picked up and held against someone's chest. Screaming and thrashing about, you yell, "No! No! Let me go! No!" _

_ "Oh, be quiet." The king's voice snaps in your ear, and you let out another shriek of anger and sorrow as you try to hit him. He ignores your protests, instead walking out of the door with you in his grip, then approaching a carriage waiting outside. You feel your stomach lurch with panic, and your cries get more desperate and violent when he gets in.  _

_ "Mother! Father! No!" You sob out, struggling in his hold, but he simply laughs and knocks on the roof of the carriage. The door is closed. _

_ You can do nothing but scream as the carriage pulls away from home, and from everything you care about in the world. _

**†** **♛** **†**

_ The next ten years are hell. _

_ The king decided that you would become his daughter, and live in the castle with him, from the day he kidnapped you. _

_ Now, at the age of fourteen, you go through the same routine every day. Wake up early, go for a run around the castle, do combat training with the other knights, complete lessons in how to act as a royal, how to manipulate, lie, change your behaviour to seem like something you aren't, and many more things. One of these lessons is how to kill cleanly, efficiently and quickly, and how to plan a death to your advantage. _

_ You hate that lesson. _

_ After that, you eat, do more training, complete any tasks the king has for you, do your chores and other jobs, then sleep. _

_ The teachers are brutal. They have no mercy on you in your training, and are completely uncaring of your wellbeing. Sick? Tragic. Get on with it. Hurt from training? Doesn't matter. You can still concentrate. Mentally and emotionally destroyed from the way you're treated by near enough everyone in the castle? Hilarious. Welcome to the "real world". _

_ You grunt, watching as your sword smashes into another, belonging to a knight. The force catches him off-guard, and you waste no time in twisting his wrist painfully, then kicking him where it hurts before ripping the sword from his hands. You send your boot into his face, watching him collapse to the ground before stomping on his stomach. _

_ You whip around, letting out a choked gasp when a fist collides with your cheekbone. Pain ripples through your skull, but you only yell out the agony and swing back with both swords, sending the knight to the floor with two long, deep cuts on his chest. Another kick in the head, and he's gone. _

_ Yes, these are knights. You'd think you'd be told to not harm them, but that's what's encouraged. Father wants you to do damage to them, to get used to it. To desensitise you to the act of inflicting pain and death. To get rid of two people that have "outlived their usefulness" to him and "are probably better off in the grave". _

_ You groan, your body aching and crying out in protest. You took quite a beating today, and you're pretty sure one of the kicks you received earlier may have fractured or perhaps even broken a rib. _

_ Oh well. It'll probably heal. You hope so. _

_ The trainer narrows his eyes at you but nods, holding his hands out for the swords. You tremble with rage, pushing them into his hands. He just snickers, a sick smile twisting his lips, before he jerks his head towards the door. _

_ You look up, seeing the king watching, his expression satisfied. You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you stare at him, knowing that you're covered in blood and bruises and cuts and that he probably doesn't even notice. He wouldn't care, anyway. You're just a tool to him, an instrument for his twisted games. _

_ You've tried to escape, of course. You've tried to kill yourself. You've tried to use other people to get out, and you've never succeeded. He is horrifically thorough in making sure you have no way to run from him. _

_ "Follow, now." He orders, turning around and walking out. You put a hand on your rib as you walk out, seeing two guards on either side of him. _

_ They leer at you while you catch up, but you do your best to not even acknowledge them, keeping your eyes forward. You can feel them staring at you as you walk; many of the guards and knights do, as well as the nobles. Being the only female in the castle and probably the country to wear shirts and leggings most of the time, so that training is easier, they have a rather enjoyable view of you near enough all day, every day. _

_ Father leads you through the castle, to what you know are the prisons. You internally groan, wondering what you've done wrong now. _

_ He goes into one of the interrogation rooms, which is full to the brim of experimentation and torture equipment, and you suppress a shudder. You've been in here many times, and have received quite a few of the punishments and experimentations dotted around the room. You've filled the prison with screams and shrieks of pain, with cries and yells to just kill you and be done with it. You've silenced the shouts of other prisoners, have rendered them horrified with everything you've been put through. _

_ Father gestures to the reclined chair in the centre of the room, commanding, "Lie down on your front." _

_ You bite your tongue to hold back a retort, instead doing as you're told and sitting on the chair, then turning and lying down. Your head thuds with panic and worry when you get flashes of previous punishments, but you force your expression to remain blank as he stands next to you, and the guards strap your back and hips to the table with reinforced leather belts. It's something quite bad, then; they only strap you down when they know you're going to lash out and move away repeatedly. _

_ Oh, God. Help. You never have, but please help me. I need it. What have I done to deserve this, to be treated this way? _

_ "You've done very well in your training." The king states, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. "I'm told you've completed all of the courses and have mastered several skills." _

_ You are filled with confusion almost immediately, but you just scowl at him, snapping, "If so, why am I in here, then? What have I done wrong?" _

_ He laughs darkly at your tone, ever amused by your never-dying desire to disobey him. "Nothing, actually. This is a reward for your progress." _

_ He walks over to the side of the room, where the fire is blazing, hot and bright. Your heartbeat speeds up with fear and panic. You immediately shift in the chair, moving over to the side upon seeing him pick up a metal rod. He smiles at you as he holds in the flames, and your stomach lurches; it starts to go white-hot with the intense heat. "Although, it probably won't feel like one. It didn't to me when I had it done." _

_ You can't keep your composure together properly as you stare at the rod, seeing a section at the bottom that is flat, with characters of some sort on it. You try to sit up, but as soon as your back comes away from the chair, the guard pushes you down, his hand rough as it forces your shoulder against the leather. "Why do it, then? Why do it to me?" _

_ He just chuckles. "Because it will make you stronger." _

_ You find yourself going into a deeper panic when you see him nod to the other guard, who comes around to your left side and grabs your wrist. He pins it next to your head with the underside of your forearm facing up. You struggle against his hold, snarling, "You're sick. It doesn't make you stronger at all. It's just made you angry, and you take that anger out on everyone else." _

_ His smile disappears instantly. He narrows his eyes, then turns to the guard on your right. "Strap her down. I don't want her squirming to ruin my handiwork." _

_ The guard quickly throws your other wrist against the table, fastening the belt over it tight enough for it to bite into your skin and bone painfully. You ignore this and kick out, trying to break the belts over your middle before he can restrain you completely. _

_ He just continues to strap your neck down, forcing your face against the chair, and you feel your eyes becoming moist when he grabs your leg and pushes a pressure point agonisingly hard. You let out a choked wail as he slaps your other thigh, silently telling you to stop struggling. You stop, feeling him fasten the straps over your calf and thigh before doing the same with the other leg. _

_ You glare up at the king, baring your teeth at him as you bark out, knowing you're screwed either way, "If you think I'm grateful for your sick rewards, I'm not. Punish me all you want, but I'll not thank you for this. Fuck you. Fuck you, and fuck all of the things you've put me through. Fuck you for ruining my life." _

_ You then force yourself to give him a grimace of a smile, laughing out mirthlessly, "You have nothing else to take from me. I'll never give up fighting you. I don't care how much you hurt me. It means nothing now." _

_ He is completely and utterly silent for a few seconds. You let out a ragged breath and rest your forehead against the chair, closing your eyes. _

_ "I know." He finally responds, and your body goes into lockdown as he steps up to be next to the chair, the rod hissing away near you. "But you will never get away from me. And so, I will hurt you until you finally break. I can be patient until then." _

_ A second later, he grips your forearm, then brings the rod down against your wrist.  _

_ You've never screamed so loud in your life. _

_ The burning is so intense, so sharp and sickening and deep, you almost throw up as it blisters through your arm. Your back arches up in agony. You wail and cry, trying to move your arm away, but the restraints and their hands stop you. Tears flow down your cheeks, dripping onto the chair. You hear the king sigh softly as you choke on a sob. You start to cry and weep properly, the yells making their way into the sound. _

_ He pulls the rod away.  _

_ Your body slumps against the chair, your breathing ragged and irregular as you lie there. Your vision is blurry as you pant, the pain still surging through your nerves, and weaker cries escape you.  _

_ "Nearly there. Just one more." The king tells you, as if the words are encouraging. They just destroy your strength completely, drawing another sob from you. _

_ "No... not another..." He just chuckles at your attempt at resistance, walking back to the fire and reheating the rod for a few seconds. The guards press your shoulders and centre back down after they push your shirt up, so that your spine, all the way up to where it meets your neck, is exposed. Your heart thumps wildly, panicked and increasingly desperate for escape. Your stomach twists. _

_ After a few seconds, the king draws back from the fire and picks up a piece of cloth from the side, thick and black. _

_ "Bite down on this. It may or may not help." He instructs you, rolling it up and placing it in front of your mouth. Knowing that you can't get away, you let out a defeated cry and open it, feeling him place it inside. He then pushes your head down again, your cheek against the chair. More tears break loose and stream down your cheeks. "If you don't struggle too much, I'll let you have a few days off for this." _

_ Without further warning, he forces the rod onto your right shoulder blade. _

_ The sound that comes out of you, even muffled by the cloth, is deafeningly loud. It's the agonised howl of something desperate for death, for release from the pain. It's almost inhuman. It rips at your lungs and throat as it tears itself out of your chest. The tears keep on coming, your hands clenched so tightly that your nails have cut into your palms. They’re numb, blood trailing down your palms. _

_ You can hear yourself screaming incoherent sentences, begs and pleads for help, for the end, for someone to do something. No one comes. _

_ And then it's over, after what feels like an eternity of agony. _

_ You are barely conscious when he removes the rod from your back, the sound and smell of burning flesh overwhelming you and making your head spin. Your body isn't responding, apart from the heaving of your breath in and out you. They undo the buckles and straps, then remove the cloth from your mouth. It gives you the opportunity to run, but you couldn't if you tried. Your limbs aren't responding, tingling yet numb and blistering with searing pain. _

_ Let me die... _

_ A futile, hoarse whimper escapes you when one of the guards picks you up, carrying you in front of his chest while avoiding letting his arm touch the wound, your shirt still raised. Your body starts to tremble and shake violently in his hold. You hear him, the world far away but still there, tell the king this. He starts to walk while the king speaks. _

_ "She's going into shock. It happens. I'd be slightly concerned if she wasn't." He sighs, his footsteps distinctive in front of you. "Go and fetch the doctor. Bring them to her room, quickly." _

_ The other guards break off, rerouting to go and complete the task. The king leads the remaining guard to your room, where he takes you inside, placing you on the bed on your side before turning you onto your stomach. You shiver and tremble visibly as you lie there, trying to speak but unable to form sentences.  _

_ "Find her maids and bring them here. They need to watch her, just to make sure she doesn't die overnight." _

_ You bastard... _

_ There are several sets of footsteps, and then someone is hovering over you. Cold fingers touch the flesh around the wound on your back gently, making you jump, panic bolting through your tense muscles. The fingers quickly stroke your hair, their owner hushing you softly. _

_ "Calm down. It's Sean, you're alright. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." You hear a familiar, and thankfully trusted voice, in your ear. _

_ It's the doctor, Sean; he's been here since you were brought to the castle, and has been one of the few people you have come to like. He has no evil in him - he, like you, was forced into working here against his will, and he does everything to lessen the pain inflicted on those unfortunate enough to suffer at the king's hands. _

_ You attempt speech again, it all that comes out is a moaned jumble of sounds. You feel him smiling as he takes something from the floor, something that sounds like bottles or glasses. There’s the sound of something being uncapped, and then liquid dripping out, before the container is put down. _

_ "This is going to hurt a lot, alright? Try to stay still for me. Think of anything that makes you happy." His voice is pained as he says this. Your tears return. _

_ Nothing makes me happy anymore. _

_ You let out a cry of pain as something is placed on top of the burns, like a cloth of some kind. You let out a shriek, trying your best not to fidget for Sean’s sake. He wipes the wounds for a few painful minutes, and then he puts something else on them, a cream that makes them feel cold and almost numb. You can still feel the throbbing of the pain under your skin, but it's bearable now. _

_ Just about. _

_ After this, he continues to do something to the wounds, and then he sighs heavily before he pulls back. "That's about all that I can do for now. I'll have to come and check up on you every hour or so, to make sure they don't get infected." He almost sounds ready to cry himself. He brushes your hair away from your face, the touch so gentle and loving that you start to cry even more. _

_ Why can't other people be like him? Why is everyone out to make me suffer? _

_ Sean leans over upon hearing your child-like whimpers, and he sniffles as he kneels on the floor next to the bed, making soothing noises and wiping your tears away. He holds your head protectively, arms curled around it. He whispers to you and assures you that you'll be alright.  _

_ You don’t believe him, but it helps a little. _

_ "Doctor." The king’s voice says warningly, the word coming from the doorway. Fear and panic grip you again, making you jump in Sean’s arms, although he jumps slightly as well. He hushes you quietly, kissing your forehead and stroking your cheeks. "If your treatment is done, the maids need to do their job." _

_ You immediately fear being alone, not wanting your only safety blanket to leave. You raise your unharmed arm weakly, shaking, desperate. You grip his hand in an attempt to protest to him leaving. "Nnng... nnnhh..." _

_ He kisses your head softly, strokes your face and tears once more, then stands up with a trembled breath. He collects his things and makes his way to the door, exiting the room. _

_ For a second, it's silent. You glare at your pillow, wishing with all your being that something bad will happen to the king, and that he'll die in the most painful way possible. He clears his throat. "You'll have the week off, since the burns are quite deep, and you'll postpone your physical training until later notice. You need to take it easy for now, or the wounds won't heal properly and it will come back to bite you." _

_ He then walks out without a word. Your body flushes with rage, even amongst the numbness of the cream. _

_ The maids rush in now, one called Delia speaking as soon as the door shuts. She immediately envelops you in her arms, being cautious of your wounds. "Oh, ___! What has he done to you? You poor, poor girl. I'm so sorry." _

_ You can only watch your tears fall onto the pillow. The world finally blurs away, and your mind finally lets go. _ _ _


	5. Part V | Escape.

**†** **♛** **†** **and is currently being used by you to show the two the strengths and weaknesses of the castle. There are b sleep again y to fa**

Back to the present, Byron stops you gently, saying your name to pull you from your memories. You glance up at him, eyes full of pain, but you quickly hide it.

"May I see them? The scars?" His tone is very careful, very gentle. It's like he thinks he needs to treat you differently now that he knows what's happened to you. You sort of don't want him to; you didn't want him to know of this in the first place.

You've only ever shown your knights your scars. Even so, this will prove that you're not lying, and you need that. It's more important than your own feelings.

So, you try to stop your nerves from getting to you, clenching your fists before nodding. "Yes." You then reach down, eyelashes casting shadows on your cheeks, and pull the sleeve of your top back. You feel sick as the mark shows itself, but you force it back. The sleeve comes away completely.

Gritting your teeth, you present your arm to Byron, wrist facing upwards. He moves forward to be closer to you, taking your arm in his hands with a surprisingly light, tender touch. He arches over it, lifting your arm to allow him to see in the candlelight. You see his pupil widen slightly as he inspects the letters, the permanently damaged skin.

His eyebrows slowly crease while he takes one of his gloves off with his teeth, dropping it onto his lap. He then runs his fingers over the letters, feeling the texture of the flesh, noticing how you flinch slightly and tense at the contact. He swallows, wincing at the thought of how much it must have hurt.

"And... the other?" He prompts, giving you a gentle look.

You nod mutely, slowly turning around. As you do, Byron notices that he hasn't released your wrist yet. He wonders why, quickly letting it go, and sees that it is only now that you pull it away.

Conditioned to just get on with things. She's doing it because she has no other options, or doesn't think so, at least.

You tremble slightly as you inhale, pulling your shirt down at the neck, so that it exposes your shoulder and shoulder blade.

He leans in close again, seeing the scars to be identical to the others. Just as painful, just as deep, just as inhuman. It makes him feel sick, thinking that the king decided to brand you, to mark you, more so as a twisted "reward" for good behaviour.

It all makes sense now, though. You are of common birth, but you were for the most part raised as a noble. You hold the values of the public, but have the cruel skills and understanding of the thinking patterns of tyrannical royalty.

"What do the letters stand for?" He asks quietly, letting his fingers trail over the skin again. He sees that there are other scars on your body, some clean, some messy, some large and some small. Different punishments, you said. He understands now.

You pause for a moment, then speak softly, now not flinching at his touch. Rather, you lean into it slightly, the comparatively gentler and softer touch making you feel safe and calm. Your muscles relax a little under his fingers, which makes a small smile grace his lips. So you do trust him, at least a bit. "Stefan Lineal.”

The smile fades. "Stefan Lineal?" He's never heard of such a name before.

Your eyes close, feeling his fingers tracing around the scars, then moving and touching the others. "Yes. It was the king's name, when he was alive. He kept it a secret; he was paranoid about someone using it against him." You let out a weak, mirthless laugh. "His name, when translated logically, means ‘Crown Ruler’."

He nods. "We knew he was corrupt, but there was never any solid evidence to go on. We wanted to make a move, but with the military at the size it was, and no information about the impending revolution, there was little we could do. We cut off our supplies and aid running directly to the monarchy, however."

You sigh heavily at that. "If half of the military hadn't been on the revolution's side, we wouldn't have stood a chance. We are grateful for what you did, though. Every little thing helped greatly in the end. Thank you."

He smiles again. "You are most welcome. Thank you, for putting an end to a lineage of corruption and cruelty. I doubt anyone else could have orchestrated it so well, nor managed to do it at all."

You feel a rush of heat in your cheeks at that, feeling his fingers continuing their journey over your scars. It's like he's taking them all in, trying to work out what punishment caused each mark. "That's hardly true. It would have happened regardless of my involvement."

He blinks at that, then narrows his eye. "I assume you used your knowledge of the castle to help with the revolution and its planning." You are still for a moment, and then you nod. "Who else would have provided that information?"

You say nothing, shoulders slumping. He watches you for a moment, seeing your gem-like eyes downcast, swirling with unhappiness and something else, something deep and dark and lost.

He thinks for a moment. "How old are you, ___ ____?"

Your head whips around, your gaze confused and somewhat bewildered as you watch him. Your lips part, close, and then open again. "I..." You look away, seeming to think for a moment. A frown forms on your face. "Nineteen."

His heart constricts at that, and he feels genuine sorrow for you. For someone to have experienced all of that and managed to stand up and lead such a huge change... It's incredible. He's been through some unpleasant things in his life, definitely, and some would perhaps rival yours, but he had people with constantly working with him, helping him through things, all the time. He had Albert and Nico to go to in times of hardship, to fall back on.

But from four to fourteen, you've had practically no one.

"So young to have seen so much." He murmurs, his voice lower than before.

Your pupils expand a little; is that regret that you can hear? Sympathy? Pity? It sounds like a mix of the three, which is a feat coming from the usually stoic king.

Still, you manage a shrug, his hand now having fallen from your scar. You pull the top back into place, turning around to face him again. His throat thickens slightly, pain erupting in his mind as he sees bruises forming on your throat from earlier. That was a stupid move, he realises, and could cost you dearly, all because of his paranoia. "Is your throat alright?"

You blink at him, surprised by the subject change, and instinctively bring a hand up to touch it. Your face is impassive as you prod at it, even though it's actually quite sore and feels damaged. "It's fine."

He frowns, eye narrowing. It can't just be ‘fine’. "General ___, you need not hide pain around me. We are equals. As much as I can understand your hatred for monarchies and royal figures, I swear to you, I have no ill intent for neither you nor your country."

He makes his voice as kind as possible, hoping it will make you trust him more. "I do not see you as just another leader, or a piece in a long game, or a potential threat. I see you as a person. I want to show you that you can trust me."

Your eyes have hardened somewhat at this, but you are slightly conflicted, although you don't show it. You want to give him a chance. God, you really do, because although he does display some of the typical qualities of a stuck-up, twisted royal, he's proved that he can be human, and that he isn't just a political figure or tool, or a power-mad tyrant like all the others. He’s not even remotely like his own father.

You stare at him for a moment, watching his eye while it watches you. You take in his face for a moment, making your decision. "I will, on two conditions."

He inclines his head slightly, indicating for you to continue. You smile a little. "I want you to do the same. I want you to stop hiding your pain around me, to be yourself around me." You let out a little laugh, the sound like the chiming of bells in Byron's ears. His heart thuds a little faster and harder, his mind echoing with thoughts of your strength and beauty as a person.

"And," You draw his attention back, speaking in a less serious tone. "I would prefer for you to just call me ___. General ___ is just for my knights, so they know that I can tell them off when they do something wrong, but honestly I like to just be called by my name."

Stop hiding his pain around you? Be himself? It's an odd request. He was expecting trade deals or land or something costlier to him. This seems like such a trivial thing to ask for.

But then again... He's never done this before. He's never truly opened up to someone and let his guard down around them.

He'll see.

"Alright. I agree to the conditions." He nods, seeing you do the same. "And I think it's only appropriate for me to ask that you call me Byron."

You frown a bit. "You don't have to ask for that. I know it's..." You seem to consider the right word for a moment. "Different for you."

He narrows his eye, fighting back his mind's automatic response that it is different. "But it shouldn't be, and I will change from what I have been raised with. There must be a compromise in this if I wish for us to get along."

You are silent for a moment. Finally, you nod again, your voice softening as you speak. "Alright." You open your mouth, close it again, and then blink as you finish. "Thank you... Byron."

He doesn't expect it, so it's considerably confusing and shocking when his name on your lips sends a bolt of excitement through his heart, tingling along the nerves in his body. He fails to reply for a few seconds, still trying to compute the feelings he is experiencing.

You sigh at this point, staring down at your wrist, fingers running over the flesh. "Shall I continue?"

He regains his ability to think, nodding. "When was the turning point for you? When did you decide to escape the king?"

Your body stills at this, and your eyes gain a tint of fear for a moment. Then, guilt shows in them, followed by deep shame. "When he forced me to kill my own, to kill one of the few people I had who loved me."

**†** **♛** **†**

_In the castle, there are very few people you can trust._

_The first is the doctor, Sean. The second are your maids, although you don't see them very often. There are three of them; Siobhan, Praline and Delia, with Delia currently three months pregnant. Then, the other people are one of the cooks, an older woman who is very kind to you and makes sure to bring you extra food if she can, since you often don't get enough. Her name is Rose. Then, the last person is a messenger within the castle, a young boy called Dean._

_It's on one of these days that your loyalty to them is tested._

_It's also the day that the King of Protea, an awful tyrant, visits Vinessia's castle._

_You are called down to the interrogation rooms in your combat gear, which includes a black shirt and black pants, along with your boots and hidden blades, a weapons belt hugging your waist. You are escorted down by two guards, and when you walk in, you see two knights, one a Steiner and one from Vinessia, in an intense fight. Their swords clash and hit hard each time they go in, and they are both near enough covered in blood._

_Watching them fight are the two kings, sat in thrones in the centre of the room._

_The King of Vinessia, Stefan Lineal, looks away from the fight and to you when you enter. "Ah, here she is. This is my daughter, and my most revered weapon."_

_You resist the urge to talk back at that, instead stopping when the guards do and bowing low at the waist. You may as well avoid being punished; it's not like being defiant will get you anything in particular, not when the other king is present. It'll probably just get you killed._

_The Protean king tilts his head to the side, watching you with an uncomfortably sharp gaze. "I remember her from the soirée you held all those years ago. She was the one I was interested in for my son, if you recall."_

_Stefan nods, smirking. "She would be suitable for him, I would think." He addresses you directly now, beckoning you to come closer. "Come here, ___. Let the king have a good look at you."_

_You practically feel the bile rising in your throat, but you step forward anyway, the poking of a dagger in your back from the guards urging you forward. You stop in front of the kings, keeping your eyes on the wall while they both look you over._

_"She looks very strong." The Protean king comments, eyes roaming over your form. "I suspect she would be good for birthing a child. Again, preferable for the creation of an heir."_

_"Most definitely." Stefan agrees. He then snaps his fingers, turning to the guards. "Bring them in."_

_The guards leave for a moment, heading towards the holding cells. You fight against the urge to run, and to even turn your head, as you remain stood there. Seconds later, there is the sound of scuffling and you hear voices, panicked and scared and desperate._

_Stefan snaps his fingers next to his throne, and you know that he is telling you to stand next to him. You do as you are indirectly told, trying to not imagine how satisfying it would be to sink your blades into his throat._

_You then watch, horrified, as the guards drag in Delia, Rose and Dean, their hands restrained behind their backs._

_You can barely keep yourself calm, watching them be shoved to their knees in front of the kings, swords pointed to the backs of their necks. They look up at you, eyes wild and lost and completely terrified, and you try to silently tell them to calm themselves. You don't think it works very well._

_"Now, to show you her loyalty to me." Stefan hums, gesturing to you. "You see, Your Majesty, ___ here is rather close to all of these people. However, she does as I say, as I will show you now."_

_He then turns his gaze to you, smirking cruelly. "Kill one of them."_

_Your heart stops in your chest. You can feel the shock on your face, the horror and the disbelief._

_He chuckles darkly, seeing your inability to comprehend the idea. "I'll reiterate that; kill one of them, or I kill them all."_

_Your heart kicks back in now, going into overdrive. You look down at the three, seeing them watching you with heartbroken expressions, although Delia looks like she's ready to burst into tears as well. She tries to smile at you, but it ends up falling after a second, tears rolling down her face. She looks away._

_Dean is staring at the floor, swallowing thickly, and the pain in his eyes becomes agonising when he glances up at you. He briefly looks at your blades, quickly averting his gaze. Rose, though, is smiling, and there is no fear in her eyes as she watches you. It only makes you less willing to even entertain the thought._

_"I'd rather die. Never." You practically spit the words, stepping back._

_The second you move, a hard blow hits the back of your head, coupled with what feels like a kick to the back of your knees. You fall to the floor, barely able to catch yourself on all fours, before you howl and choke at the blistering in your skull. A hand fists itself in your hair, dragging your body up, forcing you to look at the king. He watches you closely._

_"So, you're really going to let all three die to avoid the responsibility of one death? Are you really that selfish?" He asks._

_You growl, struggling against the hand restraining you. "Are you really that inhumane, that you'd make me choose?"_

_For a second, he looks surprised at your answer. The Protean king chuckles, commenting, "She has quite the fighting spirit. I think I could break her quite easily, though."_

_Stefan narrows his eyes at you, agreeing, "Yes, but I'm being careful to shape her into a useable weapon, rather than break her down completely." He snaps his fingers. "Prepare to kill them all. It seems she's made her choice."_

_A sob immediately rips from Delia at that, and Dean's breath catches in his throat, his eyes squeezing shut. You try to jump forward, but the guard tightens his grip on your hair. "No!"_

_"___," Your name is spoken by Rose softly, and you look at her, your own eyes filling with tears at the conviction in her voice. She smiles again, telling you, "My dear, kill me. It's alright. I have lived my life; these two deserve to have theirs."_

_Your struggling stops. You stare at her, your tears falling freely. "Rose..."_

_The guard shoves you forward now, sending you to the floor in front of Rose. You look up at her, your conscience completely torn, but she just nods. "Do it, ___. Save them. Just remember me - that's all I would ask of you."_

_A broken cry escapes you. Sitting up on your knees, you reach forward to pull her against you. You bury your face in her shoulder while you hug her tightly, wanting the death to be as painless as possible._

_If she wants you to do this, you will, for the sake of the other two. Otherwise, you'd never do it. Ever._

_She just laughs quietly, crying without actually crying, and rubs her face against yours for a moment. Your grip on her tightens. "If you would, I would want you to cut my throat. I don't want my heart to be touched by these tyrants."_

_Her voice is quiet enough that only you'll hear it, but the words are deafening to you. You manage a nod, pulling back as you brush her hair out of the way. She smiles at you encouragingly, and you swallow, trying to hold back your sobs as you steel yourself. You hold the side of her neck, your hand automatically positioning itself so that your blade will pierce everything and anything vital in her throat._

_"Thank you." You force yourself to say, even though it hurts to. She nods, closing her eyes. You lean forward, resting your forehead against hers. You place your other hand on her face. "May your soul be at peace in the next world."_

_Without giving yourself time to lose all composure, you jerk your wrist back. The blade shoots out, and you hear the slicing of skin as it embeds itself in her throat._

_Your eyes are closed now, and you have to swallow back the urge to be sick as you feel blood run onto your hand. All you can do is pull the blade out, hearing the quiet chokes and gargles as they escape her for a few seconds._

_Then, they stop. Her body falls forward, onto your lap._

_She goes still, the only movement from her the blood as it pumps out of her neck. It warms your legs, soaking into your clothes._

_Your sobs start now, even though you try your best to hold them back. Your body is shaking violently, with shame and guilt and sickness and horror. You bring your hand up to your mouth, attempting to stifle your misery as the blade slides back into its sheathe, blood spreading across your lips in the process._

_"Very good. You made a decision and stuck with it. What a good girl." Stefan sighs out, sounding pleased._

_Your bloodlust ignites instantly._

_Your eyes snap open, fists clenching. The guards seem to quickly click on that you're losing it, and they come over, grabbing your arms and hauling you to your feet. You start to struggle as they tug you away from the kings, dragging you back and towards the second block of cells. You snarl, thrashing against them and trying to get out of their holds._

_They tighten their grips, taking you to one of the rooms you are kept in quite often, one which has been sound-proofed. You're often taken in there when you lose it and need to cry or scream, since it annoys Stefan when you're emotional around anyone. It's the one place where you can lose control._

_They open the door, then shove you inside, kicking you in the back when you try to resist. You collapse to the floor, hearing one guard stalk over to you. You start shouting at him, spewing obscenities and insults and swears when he grabs your wrist and rips your blade off it. He does the same with the second, then walks out quickly, the door shutting and sealing behind you._

_Almost immediately, you start screaming._

_Everything crashes into you at once, all the pain and hurt and guilt and misery. You feel it all, and it destroys you, eating you from the inside._

_You just murdered someone. You just killed an innocent person. You have blood on your hands, and it's the blood of a person who didn't deserve to die. You've gone against your duty as a human, have defied the very thing that makes you a person. You deserve to die._

_And you would have killed yourself in that moment, had he not taken your blades._

_Another shriek, another inhuman sound of pure agony and disgust, howls out of you, echoing around the room and filling your mind. You lose track of time, spending want feels like an eternity shouting into an empty room where no one can hear you. Your fury spikes, and you throw yourself at the walls, punching and kicking them, slapping at them and slamming your head against them._

_You end up bleeding, cuts on your forehead and knuckles, but it makes no difference to you. You're used to it. You deserve the damage. It's nothing close to what you've just inflicted on the now deceased woman in that room._

_You eventually run out of energy to harm yourself with, and you collapse against the back wall, sinking into a heap in the corner. Your screams weaken, quietening into cries, then into whimpers, then into barely audible gasps and moans of sorrow. All you can do is stare at the door, tears and blood streaking your face, your will to exist weaker and the desire to die stronger than ever._

_Oh._

_You sniffle, bringing your hand up to bite on your finger and stop another torrent of screams. You start crying in earnest, like a child. You watch the door._

_This is what he means when he says he'll break me._

_Your eyes slide shut, body about ready to give up as you sit there._

_I think he's finally done it._

_Some time later, there's a click and the door opens slowly, the guards most likely listening to see if you're quiet yet. You don't even open your eyes as you remain in your defensive position, curled in on yourself against the wall. The guards come in, taking your upper arms and hauling you to your feet. You don't fight them, more because you can't, while they escort you out of the room. You open your eyes, but you simply stare at the floor while you are taken out of the basement level, where all of the interrogation rooms are._

_There, the guards stop, and you see Stefan stood in front of you. Your vision sharpens, turning red around him, and the guards tighten their grips on you painfully. They're warning you not to try anything. You're not going to._

_"I would say I've finally broken you." He observes, almost gently, as you avoid his gaze. You manage to shake your head, hell-bent on not giving him the satisfaction he wants. He chuckles. "We'll see. Take her to her room, and tell her teachers that she is excused from all training and lessons tomorrow."_

_The guards must nod or acknowledge this, as they then proceed to take you through the corridors, finally coming to your room. They push you inside, and you stumble in before they close and lock the door behind you._

_You look up, seeing Dean and Delia stood there, with Sean sat on your bed._

_You can't even hold it together for a second, and you start to sob again._

_"I'm sorry..." You cry out, seeing Delia bound across the room to you. She takes you into her arms, letting you sob into her shoulder for a few minutes._

_You barely register it as she pulls you to the bathroom, undressing you and helping you into the bath. She's done this so many times, when you've been unable to function after being beaten or punished, that you don't even feel odd with her seeing you naked. You just cling onto her while she helps you to wash, then pulls you out and dries you off before dressing you again._

_When this is done, she brings you out of the bathroom, and Sean immediately comes over to you, inspecting your cuts on your knuckles and forehead. "___, honey, did the guards do this? Did they beat you?" When you are silent, you see his face fall. Your heart drops even more. "Did you do this to yourself?"_

_When you are silent but nod this time, he shakes his head, trapping you in the tightest of hugs. "Oh, honey. I'm so sorry." He murmurs, stroking your hair. You cry to him, holding onto him with all you are, for a long time. Even as he treats the cuts, you don't let him go, clinging onto the small piece of safety you have. After all, nothing that you value, even the few people you love, aren't safe anymore. Stefan just proved that._

_However, he did tell the two that they could remain with you until you fell asleep, since he thought that it might be more anti-productive to leave you alone and isolate you after making you kill Rose. So, they stay with you, sat on your bed while they hold your hands and stroke your face and hair._

_You keep crying, the tears never running out, until the world blurs and fades away, lost in a sea of misery._

**†** **♛** **†**

_Three days later, you are done mourning._

_Three days later, you are ready to die._

_Three days later, you escape._ **_and is currently being used by you to show the two the strengths and weaknesses of the castle. There are b sleep again y to fa_ **

_It starts off as a normal day, as you carry out your duties, getting through them quietly. You notice that they don't seem as vigorous and painful as usual, as if the teachers have been told to take it easy on you. You doubt it. You expect there to be an upcoming test or something._

_But when night-time rolls around, you’re ready._

**†** **♛** **†** **and is currently being used by you to show the two the strengths and weaknesses of the castle. There are b sleep again y to fa**

_You make your way to Stefan's office. It's late, since you've just finished all your chores and training, but that’s good. You need the dark. It's going to act as a tool to your attempt. Your jacket is black, hiding the blades under your sleeves. You have all of the weapons you could take without drawing attention._

_You knock on the door, ignoring the stare of the guards on either side. Hearing him call you in, you push the doors open. He is sat at his desk, writing away at something on a piece of parchment, but he stops and looks up as you come in. He smiles, eyes twinkling as you approach him._

_"Ah, my daughter. Have you finally broken? Is this my moment of victory?" He stands while he asks this, leaning against the desk. You stop a little bit away from him, raising an eyebrow._

_"Not in the slightest. You're never getting your victory." He tilts his head, eyes narrowing._

_"Then to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? I don't recall you ever coming to see me willingly." His voice is almost childishly curious. He crosses his arms, staring down at you._

_"I wanted to ask you something." His expression turns surprised, and then a smile quickly spreads across his lips. "I've asked before, and I'll ask again. You killed my father when I was a child because he was plotting against you, but then you kept me alive and raised me as your daughter, but you just make me miserable and torture me. Why? Why bother? Aren't I too much of a threat because I witnessed you killing my father?"_

_He purses his lips for a few long seconds. You cross your own arms, making it clear that you're not going to leave without an answer. He studies you for a moment, like he's looking for something, before he sighs and speaks._

_"The Queen - the one who is rightly your mother - cannot bear children. This was the main reason for our..." He lets out a laugh. "Adopting of you. Killing your father was necessary, and then it gave us the option of having a child to call our own when all of our other attempts had been for nothing."_

_He sighs now, shrugging. "And yes, it is a threat, having you alive." He grins. "Are you asking me to kill you?"_

_Your expression flattens. "You know I want that. You know I want to die. I have for years."_

_The grin fades, and a heavier sigh escapes him as he steps forward. You tense, waiting for a blow of some sort._

_However, it doesn't come._

_Instead, all you get is his arms wrapping around your shoulders, tugging you into the most twisted, disturbing hug you've ever been given. He's never dared to even try getting this close to you. All you can do is stay rigid while he chuckles, murmuring, "Somehow I guessed that you wouldn't want me to be kind with you, but perhaps I should be a bit more affectionate. Would it make you hate me less if it did?"_

_It's time. This is your chance._

_You bring your hands up, one of them lightly holding onto his clothes as if you’re returning the hug. The other hovers in front of his stomach. "No," You answer softly. "I'll never not hate you. You lost that privilege when you ruined my life."_

_You jerk your wrist back, and a gasp of shock escapes him. The blade buries itself in his side._

_You quickly pull back, twisting out of his arms as he stumbles, reaching out to you. You then swiftly cross the room, slipping out before he can start calling for the guards._

_You are halfway down the corridor when he yells from the room, shouting, "Guards! Stop her! Don't let her leave!"_

_You start running._

_The corridors blur past you. You use your pre-planned route, going through the most complex but quickest set of turns to make your way to the front doors. You can hear the guards running behind you, calling to stop you, with force if necessary. You keep pushing, even as your lungs burn with panic and exertion, entering the main lobby. You sprint to the window next to the doors, knowing that the latter are locked and that you're not getting out through them._

_Instead, you take out one of the daggers you hid in your jacket, throwing it straight at the window._

_It shatters around the dagger, and you launch yourself through the opening, feeling slices of pain across your skin as the shards cut into you. You don't stop though, instead picking the dagger up and darting across the courtyard, which is almost empty; the security in the castle is somewhat weak at this time of night, since this is the hour when the guards switch over. It’s the easiest time to slip through their fingers._

_In front of you is the main drawbridge to the castle, connected to the larger bridge which runs over the river flowing around the castle._

_You run across the drawbridge, hearing bells being sounded behind you to warn of your escape. Your heart thuds faster and harder, hearing the guards rushing to pull the bridge up, and you are at the end when it starts to rise. You push off from the edge, landing on the main bridge before they can stop you. Your laboured breaths and hard footsteps are the only thing you hear for a few precious seconds, reaching the middle of the bridge successfully._

_But then there is the sound of an arrow whizzing through the air, and your body goes cold._

_A second later, pain blossoms out from your back, in the space just below your heart. Your cry out, the force from the speed of the arrow shoving you forward and causing you to fall to the ground. You scream as agony rips through your chest, but you force yourself up and against the bridge wall when the sound of hooves reaches you. You put your hand over your heart, the other holding onto the stone for support. A group of guards ride over, making a semi-circle around you._

_A second later, the king rides up, his hand pressed to his side. You can see blood spreading through his clothes._

_You find yourself smirking as he stares at you, his expression unreadable. "___, come back now and I won't punish you very harshly. I understand why you've done this. We can come to a compromise, but you need to stop this resistance. You're not getting away from me."_

_You let out a mirthless laugh, tightening your grip on the stone. "I'm afraid you're wrong. I've had enough. Today, I either escape or I die. There's no in-between."_

_His pupils widen slightly. For a second, he looks genuinely panicked. "Get her."_

_Fuck it._

_You whip around as the guards lurch towards you on their horses, jumping up onto the side of the bridge. You try your best to ignore the agony in your chest. You hear the guards stop, shouting to each other in alarm when you turn, now stood atop the stone. You stare at Stefan for a moment, taking a second to revel in the fear and devastation on his face._

_And then you tip back, closing your eyes. You fall._

_You hear him shout your name as your body hurtles towards the water, and you brace yourself, knowing that you're probably going to die in the coming minutes. The air whips around you, your stomach lurching as gravity pulls you down, bringing you into its dangerous hold at high speed._

_Maybe he did care._

_You hit the water._

_The freezing temperature makes your muscles seize up as you are sucked down. The river is fast-flowing, and you are swept along within it, away from the castle, into the forest next to it. A lake is there, connected to the river, you know from your knowledge of the area, but you don't know whether you'll live to see it. You think this when you are thrown into a rock in the riverbed, the air knocked out of you, your side scraping along the rock._

_You push up and out of the water, gasping in air and seeing that you're already away from the castle. You focus on keeping yourself in the centre of the river, away from the rocky edges, while you are dragged deeper into the forest. You can hear the guards shouting, although the sound is very quiet and faraway, but it's not something you are paying particular attention to._

_No, you're more focused on the pain burning through your side and heart, and the arrow still embedded in your back._

_You continue to hit rock along the way down the river, and you're certain that you're going to pass out when you are thrown into the lake connected to the river. You gasp, barely able to keep yourself afloat. You realise that you're out. You look around the relatively small lake, the forest nearby and the surrounding mountains, as you embrace your moment of freedom._

_You've done it. You've escaped._

_It's now, though, that you hear nearby calls from guards. You need to move. You start to swim for a few seconds, as long as you dare to, before you heave in a breath and submerge yourself in the water. You hold your breath, hearing the guards break through the forest and start to investigate the junction of the river into the lake. You listen to their voices, trying desperately to hold your breath, while they keep shouting to each other. You see them through your murky vision, poking swords into the water, trying to find you._

_You find yourself smiling, floating in the middle of the lake, safe and away from them all._

_It's now that you start to run out of oxygen, though, and you let out a noise of panic. Your lungs burn. You can't hear the guards anymore, but you're not risking it. You won't. You're not going back there. You can't._

_Too soon, so soon, you feel your insides start to spasm, and the most unpleasant, most dreadful sensation of drowning overcomes you. You thrash about in the water, trying to get to the surface, but you're too late. Your insides burn now. The pressure is so intense; it feels like someone’s dropped a rock on your chest. Your body jerks about, trying to escape itself, your eyes desperately searching for a way out._

_Your vision starts to go black after another thirty seconds or so, of the torture that feels like it lasts for a lifetime. Then, with a final cry, everything fades away. Your senses disconnect, cutting off. The pain stops, and your mind is consumed by the dark._

_It's time to die._

**†** **♛** **†**

_You aren't conscious while this happens, but a certain two people by the names of Xander and Tobias told you what happened afterwards._

_They have been watching the castle, trying to work out the switchover times for the guards and study the movements of the archers on the rooftops, when you break through the window and sprint it across the bridge. They watch everything happen nearby, from behind a shop nearby, and see you fall into the river from the bridge._

_Almost immediately, they know that you are escaping and follow the river down to the lake. They get there just as you are swept into the lake, and they stay crouched in the tree line while the guards come to look for you._

_When the guards leave to search the surrounding area, they wait for you to emerge, but you don't. After another few seconds, they see the bubbles rise up to the surface, and they know something's wrong._

_"I'll go in." Tobias says quickly, throwing off the clothes he can. Xander nods, running to the water's edge with him as he gets ready to assist. Tobias dives into the water, now shirtless with only his pants on, before he swims to where the bubbles came from. He spots your body, floating in the water lifelessly, and immediately makes a beeline for you._

_When he reaches you, he hooks an arm around your waist, then kicks up. He pulls your body to the surface, breaking through and wiping his face of water. Seeing you not breathing, he quickly swims back to the shore, watching Xander run over to him. He takes you from the raven-haired boy, laying you down on the bank after checking that the arrow you were shot with has snapped._

_He then rests his ear against your chest, hearing no heartbeat and feeling you not breathing. He wastes no time in parting your lips and breathing in deeply, before placing his mouth on yours. He breathes out, forcing the air into your lungs. He proceeds to do a set of compressions on your chest. Seeing no reaction, he does it again, and again, and again, until he is breathless and losing hope._

_But at this point, Tobias takes over, giving you much more air and pressing on your chest harder in the hopes of bringing you back. "C'mon, c'mon, breathe. Don't die, not now. You're out. Whatever happened in there, you've escaped, don't go wasting it. Wake up, damn it!"_

_He goes down on you again, pressing his lips to yours and exhaling. Another set of compressions passes, and he is starting to think that maybe they were too late._

_He growls at the thought, doing it again._

_But they're not too late._

_You suddenly jolt up as he has his mouth on yours, coughing up a mouthful of water. He jumps back, and Xander is quick to roll you onto your side, then sit you up while you continue to cough. You quickly start to fall, unable to stay awake and support yourself in your condition, and he is more than happy to hold you against him while you get your breath back._

_The coughing stops after a few minutes, and then you slump against him, gasping for air. Your head lolls back limply, lips parted, air heaved into your lungs. Xander stares down at you, looking like a man seeing the sun for the first time._

_They saved you. You're alive because of them. They got to you in time._

_But you won't be for long, not with that wound. Xander nods to Tobias, then scoops you up and into his arms bridal style. "We need to treat her wound. Let's go."_

_Tobias nods, starting to pick his clothes up. Xander walks back. He is swift as he navigates through the forest, then returns to a nearby village, avoiding view of the castle while he makes his way home. He then goes to the back door of his house, knocking on it rapidly while keeping you in his arms._

_"Mother, open the door! Hurry!" He calls, hearing the said woman rushing to do. She quickly unlocks the door, her pupils expanding at the sight of your dripping, limp body in her son's arms._

_"Oh my word. Get in, quickly. How badly is she hurt?"  She asks as she opens the door wider, allowing Xander to come in. She closes the door before going over to the table where she usually takes care of her patients, since she's luckily one of the town healers._

_Xander lays you down on your front, making quick work of taking your jacket off. "She was shot with an arrow in the back, near her heart, and she almost drowned a few minutes ago but Tobias and I were able to bring her back."_

_His mother nods, inspecting the arrow's entry wound. She starts to gather the things she needs to treat you, eyeing her son. "Go and get changed, and you can explain what happened."_

_He nods, his eyes lingering on you for a long few seconds. He then looks at his mother, electric blue orbs pleading. "Please, do what you can to save her."_

_His mother nods, giving him a small smile. "You know I always do, Xander."_

_He reluctantly leaves, heading into his bedroom to get dressed out of his damp clothes. After a few minutes, Tobias arrives, still soaking. His mother looks up, raising an eyebrow as she treats your wound. "I'll say the same thing to you that I said to your brother. Go get changed, and then I want an explanation."_

_He just nods, answering gruffly, "Alright, alright. Is she going to be okay?"_

_Seeing her nod, he heads for the other bedroom, going to change._

**†** **♛** **†**

Back to the present, Byron holds up a hand, making you pause. "Just a moment. Brother?”

You nod, a small smile crossing your lips. "Yes. They're twins, believe it or not."

Byron takes a moment to process this, his head bobbing up and down slowly. "Alright." He then recalls something else you said earlier and looks up, asking, "When was the soirée you said the Protean king spoke of, when he first saw you?"

You think for a moment, leaning back against the couch. "Probably when I was about six. It was the first time Stefan wanted to show off his new daughter to the nobles." You blink, eyes flying up to meet Byron's. "You were there. I saw you."

He wracks his brain, trying to remember the evening. This is coming back to him now, and he feels like this is why he has experienced the sensation of seeing you before. "It was in a ballroom, in Vinessia."

You nod. "Yes, and the orchestra were playing for most of the night, until one musician made a mistake and was hit by the Protean king. You looked at me across the room when it happened. I remember looking back, and wondering why you looked to me when it did."

Byron's mind finally clicks, and he is hit by a rush of memories. He remembers seeing you across the ballroom, that little girl that looked out of place, just as stuck and miserable as he was. He remembers thinking that, even though you seemed so unhappy, you looked strong, and you were very pretty. "I remember now. I knew I'd seen you before."

You just smile, nodding again. “It’s a small world.”

The clock tower chimes, interrupting the conversation. It rings quietly, signalling midnight, and Byron wonders if he should leave this alone for now. He wants to know the rest, but you might be tired, and he’s probably strained you enough as it is by asking for you to remember all of this.

So, he looks back at you now, smiling softly. “I suppose I should let you go to sleep. This is probably giving you a bad impression of Steiner hospitality.”

A very soft laugh bubbles over your lips at that. His heart races again, heat pulsing through him. “I said I’d tell you everything. It’s only fair. Worry not, I can deal with losing sleep; I don’t get much anyway.”

Your voice is almost amused when you murmur the last part. He wonders why that is, but decides against, it, thinking that it might be a bit too personal. “Are you sure? This can wait if you’d like. I’d imagine it’s not very pleasant, recalling all of this.”

You nod. He notices that your right hand moves down to your blade absently, fingers tracing over the metal, while you meet his gaze and answer. “It’s alright. While it isn’t very nice, I’ve done what I can to come to terms with it all over the years. It doesn’t bother me as much as it did when I first got out.”

That sends alarm shooting through him. He doesn’t quite understand why. His eye narrows. “What do you mean?”

You hesitate, as if you don't want to respond. When you speak, your voice is almost hollow, and your eyes skitter away from his. Your gaze lowers to your blade, briefly flicking to your scar, before you shake your head and instead turn to watch the fire. He can see that your skin is slightly flushed.

“I…” You seem to have to force something back, something stopping you from answering. He supposes it must be hard to say things like this. “When I first got out, I barely slept at all. I was so worried and paranoid about being found, I was terrified. I was constantly ready to have to run for it and hide, or kill more people just to live a little longer. I didn't want to have to kill anyone.”

Your eyes become dull now, arms crossing over your stomach. “Even when I did sleep, and when I do now still, I usually wake up a lot.” For a second, you wince, as if you’re in pain. You reach up to rub your face, sighing heavily. “I apologise.”

He has been taking in what you’re saying attentively, very much interested to know you more deeply and for you to be honest with him. So, he’s taken aback by your sudden apology. His pupil widens slightly. “For what?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m sitting here telling you my problems. You only asked for my past. It probably doesn’t help to create an image of a capable leader for me.” Your expression turns sour. “Even though I don’t want to be one.”

He immediately responds, not even thinking about his words. They come naturally, not from any of the pre-programmed formats he was taught by the castle tutors on how to speak to other leaders, not from his formal mind. They come from him. He’s completely clueless with and doesn’t really understand romantic emotions, but things like this, painful pasts and memories and sleepless nights… he does understand them. Everything his father did has stayed with him through his life, still haunting him even now.

He knows this pain, because these are things that hurt him at times, things he sometimes wants to talk to someone about, but can’t. He has never felt like he could talk to someone comfortably about these things and have them not think badly of him. He feels, no- he knows, that you wouldn’t. He can see it in your eyes, in the way you act and have told him about your life, that you would understand. He wants to know your pain, because it will give him the reassurance that someone else understands his own agony.

“Don’t apologise for telling me things like that. I asked for you to be honest with me and show me your pain, and to not hide your emotions from me. I want to know who you are. I want to do what I can to help, not only as a king, but as myself. I want to hear things like this.”

He finds himself smiling slightly, seeing your expression show slight surprise. He continues, speaking honestly, smile fading. “I can see that you hate hiding your emotions and want to just be yourself. I see that you don’t want to be a leader, nor thought of as one, and I understand. You can be yourself. I’ll think nothing less of you for it. Just from what you’ve done prior to being chosen to represent your country, I know and am confident in you being more than capable of making Vinessia even greater than it already is.”

For a few very quiet moments, all you can do is stare at him. Your lips part, eyes showing vulnerability for a brief second. His words hit hard and deep. You want to do it, God above you do, but you don’t trust him enough. Every time you consider it, every time you think about putting faith in him, your thoughts whirl to Stefan’s lessons.

_Don’t trust anyone._

_Everyone wants to hurt you._

_People will lie for anything._

_They’ll hurt you just to achieve their own agendas._

_People don’t care about you._

_Everything they say is just the words of a mask. They mean nothing._

You know the lessons are wrong, but the seeds of doubt are there. It’s hard to let your guard down completely with him. You’re so conflicted and torn.

Gaze falling to your wrists, your eyebrows come together a little. Trying to silence the two halves of your mind, trying to stop them from screaming at each other and making a decision so hard, you stop listening to your brain. Your mind, your logical thoughts, fade away.

All that is left to influence your decision is your heart and instincts. Your body says that you can trust him. While he is what he is, you feel like he is genuine. Something tells you that he speaks the truth, that he does want to help. You don’t sense malicious intent behind his kindness.

You want to believe him. You want to trust him.

“Okay.” The whisper is almost inaudible. It slips through your lips, shaky and somewhat unsure. You continue to keep your gaze from him.

His words, the unexpected, sudden tenderness and gentleness, are making your insides flutter and tighten in a way you’ve never experienced, and it scares you. Your mind recalls the memory of him carrying you earlier, recreating the warmth and security of him holding you, imagining him embracing you. Imagining him being there to support you, imagining him being there to get you through those nights you spend curled up in your room, trying to breathe through an episode of crippling fear and overwhelming pressure.

_I’m so confused._

“As long as you do the same.” Your words are quiet, but he hears them. He’s experiencing very similar feeling; he’s never had the squeezing sensation in his chest that he’s having now, never looked at someone and immediately been filled with the desire to learn about them, to know them, to help and care for them.

He’s never had any sort of romantic interest in anyone, but he’s heard some things about it. From the little bits and pieces he’s paid attention to when his knights, or an amused Nico to Albert talk about what it’s like to love someone, he’s got a vague idea of what it would be like. He’s never wanted to love, or felt like he could love. He and his country are all he’s ever thought about, and he has been fine living like that.

But now, that means nothing. He understands nothing, and yet this is very clear to him.

This woman, the one who’s defied so many silent rules and expectations, the one who’s been broken as a child and battered by the world into adulthood, then repaired and healed herself and became what she is now… this woman has thrown away everything he knows of, confuses him in ways he’s never been at any point in his life, and this is the one he feels drawn to like a moth to a flame.

This is the one he wants to see smile and laugh more, because life has been too cruel to her, has hurt her too much too soon. And he can say that in full confidence, even though he doesn’t even know everything she’s been through.

“I accept.” He nods.

He has to meet you halfway. This will take patience and trust.

Your own head drifts up and down now, as you gather your thoughts and put your composure back together. Your eyes lift to his, and you redirect the conversation back to its original topic. “What else would you like to know?”

He thinks for a moment, considering what he needs rather than what he wants to know. He rests his chin on his knuckles. He knows about your childhood and upbringing, along with your escape from Stefan. He doesn’t think it would be ideal to ask about the revolution itself, all things considered.

He decides to find out how you managed to keep yourself alive and out of Stefan’s line of sight. “How did you survive after that? I’m assuming your bodyguards assisted you in some way.”

Your lips curl up at the edges, softening your features beautifully. “Yes, they certainly did. I owe them my life and all that I am.”


	6. Part VI | Xander. Tobias.

**†** **♛** **†**

_It takes a long time for you to wake up after being treated by the twins’ mother._

_Your body slowly comes back into awareness, limb by limb, breath by breath. You gradually become aware of what’s going on around you, eyes forcing themselves open even in exhaustion. You’re extremely sore and feel like death, but you’re alive. You made it. Looking around and seeing that you’re in an unfamiliar room, your breath heaves out of you. You’re not back in the castle. You’re away from Stefan._

_But for how long?_

_Your mind starts to kick in properly, and raises this very good point. He will most likely look for you now, will see if you’ve escaped anywhere. He might search people’s houses and terrorise them for information._

_I’m such a bastard. How selfish can I get?_

_Groaning in pain, you sit up on the bed you’re lying on, feeling your ribs and side throb with pain. Wincing, you then gasp and stifle a cry. Your shoulder is engulfed in burning agony, melting through your whole right shoulder and upper arm. You fall back against the pillows, panting, feeling like your whole body is in flames. You’re cold, but it’s like your skin feels hot to the touch. You wonder if you’ve got a fever._

_You try again after a few moments’ rest, but are once again unsuccessful. Frustrated that you’re out but now unable to move, a growl erupts from your throat. Bolstered by your fury, your determination peaks. You throw yourself up, feeling the searing pain worsen to the point of bringing you to tears instantly. You can’t stifle your howl of pain now, your left hand flying up to grip the top of the damaged shoulder._

_Through your torture, you hear movement and voices, followed by rapid footsteps. Your body jolts back against the headboard, sending another wave of pain rolling through you. Vision blurring with tears, you curl in on yourself defensively, eyes honing in on the door to the room._

_It opens after maybe three seconds, and three people enter the room. Two are strikingly similar in face shape and eye colour, and their body sets, as well as the fact that they’re both male. One’s hair is jet black, the other white like snow. The third person is a woman, maybe in her forties, with short white hair. She has the same electric blue eyes as the two boys. You guess she’s their mother or something along the lines._

_Regardless, you eye them suspiciously, expecting them to be enemies. You have no friends now. “Who are you? Where am I?” The woman takes a small step forward, but freezes when you fix her with a warning glare, threat and power exuding from you even in your weakened state._

_For all you don’t enjoy acting like Stefan, mastering all the abilities and behaviours of the nobility comes in handy sometimes._

_She speaks gently, like she’s trying to sooth an aggressive animal. “Please, we are not going to hurt you. We want to help. You’re injured, and you must relax, or your wounds won’t heal.”_

_Your mind immediately says that she’s lying through her teeth. However, you feel the rough texture of bandages around your shoulder. She could have treated you. There’s a possibility she’s telling the truth._

_But why?_

_You narrow your eyes, trying to rid them of the pain surging through your muscles. “Why would you want to help? You don't know me. You owe me nothing.” Your gaze snaps to the two boys for a second, before moving back to her. “Why should I trust you?”_

_The boy with white hair speaks now, his tone cautious but soft. “Because we got you out of the lake and resuscitated you. You had drowned, but we brought you back and treated your wounds. We were able to prevent you from suffering long-term damage in your shoulder and arm, although granted that was partially luck.”_

_Your eyebrows pull together. You don’t like this. You say nothing, though, and he continues. “We saw that you came from the castle. You were shot when you ran out, and then jumped off the bridge when the guards went for you. You were escaping, right? You wanted to get away from the castle?”_

_Damn. He knows that you’re wanted by the castle, which gives them the leverage of handing you over to Stefan. You look around for something to harm yourself with, in the hopes that, should they try to take you back, you can kill yourself beforehand. You won't return._

_You find nothing, though. Scowling deeply, you look back to the boy who spoke, muttering, “Yes, I was escaping.”_

_You expect him to start making a plan to take you back, or to drag you up and out, or to go to call for the guards. All he does, though, is turn to the other boy and beam at him, getting a small but somehow kind smirk in return. He looks back to you, eyes sparkling with life. “We’re glad. We reckoned that if you were being shot at, you were probably on the king’s hit list or had gotten on his bad side somehow. And if you did, then we’re probably on your side.”_

_Your mind blanks._

_They’re happy I’m on the opposing side of the king?_

_Being in the castle for so long, with so little exposure to the towns, you’ve forgotten how to trust anyone. You just sort of assumed that everyone in the towns are happy to go along with Stefan’s madness, since he evidently snuffed out all who resisted a decade ago. But here you are, people who support someone against him._

_“You…” You have to take a moment to put your words together, confusion running riot in your mind. “You oppose the king?”_

_The boy nods, as does the other one. The woman does nothing, but her eyes harden slightly, as if she’s angered by the thought of the king. The fair-haired one speaks again, although quietly this time. “We completely disagree with and despise his rule. We hate the whole royal family, although we doubt there’s actually that many of them, and we want them gone. We’re sick of the corruption in this nation. We deserve better. The Lineals have been in power for too long, and have abused that power for too long.”_

_Maybe there is a God._

_You take a moment to let this sink in, your muscles loosening slightly. These people want Stefan out. They oppose his rule. The resistance is still alive, although apparently less active._

_Maybe you have a chance. You were going to try to kill him anyway, but doubted your chances of success since you had no one else to help. Now, if you can get help from the townspeople, you could do it. Many would die and the country would probably be ruined, but you’d be able to free them. You have intel they would never be able to get. You have fourteen years of having eyes and ears within the castle, of knowing the patterns and shifts in his decisions and routines._

_You know what they would need to act against him._

_“You want Stefan dead?” The dark-haired boy nods vigorously, piercing eyes smouldering. You let out a breath. “Does anyone else resist him?”_

_He answers now, rather than the other boy. “Yes. Many of the townspeople are desperate for them to go down, and even more are willing to fight for it. We reckon that, over the past few years, the resistance rates have gone from around forty to sixty percent of the public, with a lot of the military showing upset as well. Some of the nobility also oppose it, but we can’t know with all of them. We’ve been monitoring this for a while.”_

_He glances at the other boy, lips splitting in a grin. “I suppose you could say we’re the ones who’ve been trying to plan an attack on the monarchy.”_

_Sixty fucking percent. This is the best news I’ve heard in fourteen years._

_You take a moment to drag your hair back from your face with your free hand, considering this. Assuming they’re telling the truth, these are the best odds you can hope for. You don't think they’re lying; why would they? That would just put them in a dangerous position themselves, should they plan to report back to the authorities, and they know you’re being hunted anyway. It would be suicidal._

_You can help them. You can use what you know and see if you can increase the support for a revolution, then attack Stefan when he’s at his weakest. No one has ever had the intel to do such a thing._

_You do._

_“You could die doing this, or worse.” The words fall from your lips without you thinking. You have to make sure they’re up for this before you even consider doing anything. “This could ruin you. If it goes badly, you're going to regret it for the short amount of time you’re alive afterwards.”_

_The dark-haired one snorts, and the other boy smiles wistfully. His eyes flash with pain for a brief moment. It’s the woman who speaks this time, her tone sarcastic. “The people have, for the most part, lost the will to care about their lives. We want our freedom. We’re willing to risk anything even to just get the chance of destabilising Stefan.”_

_You nod at this. You know the feeling to a painful extent._

_“Alright.” You utter softly, wincing again._

_Your shoulder has been throbbing with rather unbearable pain this whole time, but you’ve been able to ignore it because of the distraction you’ve had. A soft groan escapes you, and the white-haired boy approaches the left side of the bed. You tense up instinctively, inhaling sharply when your shoulder cries out. He slows slightly, holding his hands up a little to show he means no harm. You force yourself to relax and stop tensing up as he reaches out to you, his hands hovering over your left shoulder and hand._

_“Do you mind if I touch you? You need to lie back. The arrow luckily didn't hit any nerves or arteries, but it still did quite a bit of damage, and your ribs need to be still for a while.” He explains himself. You understand where he’s coming from, although you’re very wary about trusting him._

_Forcing back the instincts that tell you to not let anyone come near you and lash out, you shake your head. “I don’t mind.” You answer quietly._

_Upon seeing this, he smiles gently, happiness twinkling in his eyes. “Thank you.”_

_He proceeds to very carefully put his forearm under the middle of your back, then slip his hand into yours with amazing care. The softness and kindness in the way he does it makes you want to cry, but also makes you want to hug him. You suppose, after being given practically no affection for so long, you want to feel loved. You’re desperate for someone to cherish you and hold you without hurting you._

_“Can you use my hand to lift your legs up? I’ll lie you back. You need to be careful not to jostle the muscle too much before it has a chance to seal up.” He prompts you, his tone encouraging but not forceful. So used to being given orders and not having an alternative choice, you stare at him for a moment, then nod and avert your gaze._

_You’re feeling extremely conflicted and confused right now. This is so foreign to you. I mean, you were treated nicely by Sean, Delia, Dean, Rose and Praline, but that wasn't very frequently; usually when they were physically gentle like this, it was always after a beating or punishment of some sorts. You generally don't remember it afterwards; you block out the pain and the time around it._

_He gives you an odd look, his eyes concerned, but he says nothing in response to your hesitation. You push down on his hand and your free one to lift your legs and pelvis up, feeling him support your back and move your body down a bit in the bed. He then lowers your back down as the woman comes over. She positions the pillows under you to be supporting your other shoulder, lower back and right arm, suspending the damaged shoulder between them._

_Your thoughts become even more confused._

_This is sort of familiar. I don’t remember much from when I was little, only when father died - and presumably mother too - so I don’t remember them being so loving with me. I know they were, but I have no clear memories now._

_You let out a breath when the pain eases a little, moving your gaze around the room. There are no windows, you notice. It’s small and simple, but comfortable. It feels like a home. The castle felt like a prison._

_Speaking of prison, this could go wrong very soon for these three, and yourself. “Wait,” You murmur, glancing between them. “There’s a chance that the guards might come looking for me. They won’t have a body, so they can’t be certain I’m dead. Stefan’s paranoid and likes tying up loose ends. What if he comes here?”_

_The dark-haired one just grins, walking over to the corner on your left, in front of you. There is a desk there, although small, with a gap in the middle. He crouches down to lift two of the sectioned wooden floorboards out of the way, then fiddles with something for a moment. There is the sound of something moving, and then he looks up, focusing his wolfish smile on you._

_“You can’t see it right now but this is a tunnel. It leads down to a rock door, which can be moved out of the way and then leads into a small cavern underground. We built it a few years ago, when things went to hell after the resistance died. From the cavern, there’s another tunnel through a door that leads to the outskirts of the city.”_

_He takes a moment to fix it all back into place. He then stands up, coming to stand next to the other boy while he crosses his arms. “If you reckon someone’s here that shouldn’t be, or we tell you to, hide in there. Go down into the first tunnel and stay there unless we tell you otherwise. You should be safe there until we can come down and tell you you’re alright to come back up.”_

_You suppose that’s good enough, presuming that you can move and open it fast enough._

_“Until then, though,” The fair-haired boy interjects gently, giving you a smile. He slowly sits on the bed on your left, as if he’s waiting for you to tell him to stop. You don't. “I’ve just realised that we’ve been quite rude. My name is Xander Schuyler.”_

_The dark-haired one continues from here, rolling his eyes at the other boy. “You’re so formal.” He looks at you now, giving you a smirk. It’s not malicious, though. “I’m Tobias Schuyler. That gentleman wannabe over there is my twin.”_

_Twin?_

_Your eyes move between them, taking in their features. You suspected as much, but you’re amazed by the contrast in their hair colours. You guess they’re not identical twins, although their similarities are uncanny._

_The woman finishes their introductions, her expression softening a bit. “My name is Lena Schuyler. These are my sons.”_

_You suppose you should tell them who you are. It’s a huge risk, since someone finding out that you’re alive could cause problems, specifically a noble. Then again, they have just as much of a chance of recognising your face should they see you, without even needing a name._

_You take in a breath, looking around them all. “My name is ___ ____.”_

_Lena freezes, pupils going wide. “Just a moment. Are you Ryia’s daughter?”_

_She knows my mother? Or, well, did she know her when she was alive?_

_“I-” Your words disappear, heart thudding in your chest. “I thought she was dead. She was-”_

_“Attacked with your father by Stefan and his men, when they killed him. She survived. I treated her.” Your heart aches for a second, and you wince. Xander reaches out to you, seeing this, but stops when you shoot him a look. “Their daughter went missing that night and wasn’t seen afterwards.”_

_Your throat goes dry. Everyone thought you’d disappeared completely, but you were there the whole time. Your mother is alive._

_That’s why Stefan gave me a fake name for when nobles came around or we went to a party. Only the King of Protea knew the truth. He knows, no doubt, now, that it’s me ruling Vinessia. I wonder why he hasn’t caused any trouble yet._

_“Stefan took me that night, after he attacked them in front of me.” Your voice is horrifically weak as you say this, thinking it best to come clean. They could probably put two and two together now, anyway. “He made me his daughter and hid me in the castle. He trained me to kill and be his weapon.”_

_Xander looks distraught now, and Tobias has gone pale, the blood drained from his face. Lena shakes her head, eyes burning with rage. Xander reaches over but doesn’t stop now, taking your hand with a gentleness that makes you want to cry again. You don't have the willpower to stop him; you almost want his support and comfort, want to feel some solid security and love in your life. You want them to care._

_Your fingers close around his, communicating that you don’t mind. Lena exhales slowly, as if she’s getting rid of her anger, before she places a hand on your shoulder cautiously. Although your muscles tense painfully, alarm shooting through your veins, you force yourself to stay still. She speaks, her tone despairing. “___, when I was treating you, I noticed scars all over you. Most of your body is covered in marks, and many of them look extremely deep.”_

_She pauses for a moment, seeing you avert your eyes to the cover, free hand curling into a fist. Memories flash through your mind, screams and knives and pain, blood and torture and the desire to die so strong-_

_“___.” She says your name ever so softly now, seeing your mental pain. “What did he do to you?”_

_You don’t know what to say. You don’t want to remember all of the punishments, or the experiments. You don't want to talk about them. You don't want them to know. “He… I don’t… He…”_

_“___, stop. Mother, leave her alone. She’s in no state and has no obligation to talk about it. She’s been through enough.” Xander’s voice snaps at Lena, sharper than you would expect from him; he’s seemed very docile up until this point. Glancing at him, you see that he’s scowling at her, eyes disapproving. “She can tell us when she’s ready. She can tell us if she’s ever ready, when she’s ready.”_

_Lena seems to click with this, her expression betraying guilt. She immediately backs off, removing her hand, before she nods. “I apologise, ___. I didn’t mean to push you towards telling us.”_

_Without another word, she whips around and swiftly walks to the door, suddenly seeming very off and uncomfortable. She leaves, shutting the door behind her quietly. Confused, you can only stare as Tobias stalks to the door, following her out before shutting the door again._

_It’s silent for a moment, and only when it’s like this do you start to take notice of your quick breathing, your lungs taking in shallow gulps of air. You can feel your body trembling now, still warm like earlier, but you feel like the shaking is more from stress and emotional trauma._

_You don’t quite understand what’s going on; this has never happened before._

_“___, it’s alright. I’m sorry – she shouldn't have said that. You don't have to tell us anything, not unless you want to and feel like you can.” Xander speaks softly, watching your face intently. He has been observing your increasingly distressed state up until this point, and now he squeezes your hand carefully, murmuring,_

_“Breathe. I need you to breathe for me, ___. You’re out now. You’re safe. We’re going to make sure that Stefan doesn’t come near you, and that you never go back to that hellhole. I promise, you can trust us. If you need to cry, I don’t mind. If you want to hit me, shout at me, ignore me, that’s okay. Whatever makes you feel better, I’ll make it happen. You’ve suffered too much too soon.”_

_Your composure, already in pieces from the past few days, starts to shatter. Turning your head to the side, you swallow thickly, feeling a lump forming in your throat. Your eyes start to fill with tears, and you try to force them back, protesting in a whisper, “I don't want to cry. I want to be strong.”_

_You hear what’s almost like a laugh from him, soft and breathy but at the same time so sad. He removes his left hand from yours, bringing it up to hold the right side of your face and turn it back to him gently. Your gaze remains downwards in an attempt to hide your tears, but he sees them. He sees the shine from the candlelight refracting through them._

_“I know.” He utters. You want him to stop being so kind. It’s just making you more upset. “But I think you need to cry. You’re not weak because of it. You’re human.”_

_Everything breaks down. You can’t hold it together anymore._

_He sees your eyes squeeze shut, lips pressing together, and he moves forward so he can sit next to you. Your head falls against his shoulder. He wastes no time in releasing your hand, then holding it with his other, while the first wraps around your back and cradles you against his side. He rubs your arm gently, letting you grip his hand tightly and press your face into his shirt._

_After a few moments, the first of your cries escapes you. From then on, there’s no going back._

_He murmurs to you soothingly, rubbing your hand while you descend into broken sobs. You don’t understand why you’re letting yourself break down so quickly after meeting these strangers, but you just feel like you can trust him. You want to trust him. None of your instincts are warning you about him, nothing is indicating that he has ill intent for you. Your senses only tell you that he is good-natured and that he wants to help you._

_So you show him your weakness. You let him see you at your worst. You cry and sob and cling to him, needing someone there, needing some structure of security to fall back on, needing someone you can confide in. He doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, simply rubbing your skin and murmuring sweet nothings into your hair, telling you that you’ll be alright and that you’re safe._

_You hold onto every word like your life depends on it. They’re the only thing that seem to be sources of light in a pitch black world._

_It takes you a long time to get everything out of your system once and for all, but when you do, you feel a lot better for it. You feel like you’ve had a huge weight lifted off your shoulders and like you have more strength now, more will and energy to fight. You know you’re likely to die very soon, and to fail, but you are still hell-bent on using the opportunity you’ve created for yourself._

_You suffered to get out. Now you’re going to destabilise every single foundation of Stefan Lineal and his nobility, are going to take his ivory tower down piece by piece until you can finish what you should have the night you escaped._

_You take a few minutes to settle your breathing and calm down, still leaning against Xander heavily. He doesn’t look like he minds, still simply massaging your upper arm and hand. You use the sound of his steady, paced breaths to regulate your own, matching him. You hear him chuckle softly when you do this, but he says nothing, waiting you out to take care of yourself. It’s the perfect balance; he’s not pushing you to speak or do anything, but he’s providing the support you need by being there._

_When you’re finally stable, you speak quietly, whispering into his neck, “Thank you.”_

_He smiles into your hair, his voice light and genuine. “You’re welcome. You can break down with me, whenever you need it. I’ll always be here for you now. We all will.” Looking down at you and seeing that your eyes are closed, skin still moist from your tears, he decides that you should probably take some time to sleep. “You should rest now. Your shoulder needs time to heal and you need to recover from the past few days.”_

_Your eyes flutter open at that, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Past few days?”_

_He laughs again, but it’s a kind laugh. It’s one that makes you feel safe. “Yes. You’ve been out for two days. Mother – Lena – saw your other injuries that were rather new and from the last few days.”_

_You still at that. “I was asleep for two days?”_

_He nods. “It’s not surprising, considering the emotional stress you were under when you were escaping, along with the fact that you were shot and almost died after drowning. Your body needed time to readjust itself and try to get back to normal.”_

_You say nothing to that. You just close your eyes again, letting out a shaky breath. He speaks again, more softly now. “Would you like me to stay here, or leave? I can stay if you want.”_

_You consider that for a moment. You feel slightly embarrassed by wanting him here, but you just want to have someone with you while you go into sleep again. You don’t want to be alone. “Can… can you stay? Just until I fall asleep?”_

_He doesn’t hesitate in nodding, shifting so that he’s lying back against the headboard, letting you lean on him more comfortably. “Of course.”_

_Your mind starts to tick over into sleep, succumbing to his gentle touch and assuring words. Hand still in his, you relax against him, feeling his chin prop itself up on your head. It’s very strange, being so close and intimate with someone you’ve only just met, but you suppose it makes sense. He saved your life. You feel like you already have a deep connection with him, and the other two, although not so strongly Lena, just because of the situation. She saved your life as well, but it was by taking care of your injuries, not by actually bringing you back from death._

_“Thank you… for saving me. Can you tell Tobias that I am as well, please?” Your mumble of gratitude is met with a breathy chuckle._

_“You don’t have to thank either of us, but you’re very welcome. I’ll tell him.” You nod into his shoulder, thoughts going hazy. You don’t speak again._

_And neither does Xander, the one who would spend many nights like this with you in the coming years, who would see you weak again and again and again, would be the one to put the pieces back together when you break._

_And he wouldn’t have it any other way._

**†** **♛** **†**

_As soon as your shoulder has pretty much healed muscle-wise five weeks later, you get to work. Before that, you learn as much as there is to know about the state of the country, the people, Xander and Tobias’ allies and enemies, and the two in general._

_You stand at the table in your new home, which is Lena’s house, where Xander and Tobias live. The map in front of you is the newest version of Vinessia, and is currently being used by you to show the two, along with several of their allies, the strengths and weaknesses of the castle. There are books scattered across the table, textbooks for college studies and jobs, so as to explain why everyone is in the house should the guards come knocking. It’s a precaution the boys have to take every time someone comes over._

_“So,” You start, leaning over the table and placing a finger on the castle bridge._

_You are wearing a black shirt and form-fitting black pants like you did in the castle, since Xander and Tobias were able to get you some over the course of two weeks, along with a pair of suede boots. They’re flat on the bottom so that you can move quietly, and the top isn’t excessively loose as to draw attention. The allies were slightly surprised when they first came in and saw you, but you explained to them your simple reasoning for wearing such things and they got on with it._

_“This is obviously the main bridge that is used to bring supplies in and out of the castle, and is how soldiers filter in or out.”_

_You trace your finger toward the castle, pausing at the space where the bridge and the drawbridge meet. “Here is where the drawbridge starts. It’s connected to the two towers on either side of the walls via chains, which are draw in or out by a levered metal wheel on the outer wall of each tower at the bottom.”_

_You indicate to the two towers, then make a sweeping motion around the empty space between the outer walls and castle itself. “Here is where the guards make their rounds. When I was there, although I don’t know if Stefan will have bolstered this because of my survival being ambiguous, there would be two groups of four armed guards patrolling for an hour at a time. They’d switch over and move to patrol the walls, interchanging every hour with a set group of other guards.”_

_Heaving in a breath, you go to start explaining the structure of the walls and sentry towers. Before you can, though, there is a booming knock at the front door, followed by a terse voice. “This is the Royal Guard! Open up!”_

_Shit._

_You and Xander move immediately. Swiping the map, you quickly but quietly make your way into your temporary bedroom, which is actually Xander’s._

_You don’t have your own room, but that’s fine with you. As long as you have somewhere to sleep, you’re happy, and Xander assured you that he didn’t mind._

_Xander shuts the door behind you, and you move to the corner, lifting the floorboards up swiftly. He moves them away while you unlock the hatch, then slide the panel hiding the tunnel to the side. You’ve done this several times now, so you feel no fear as you chuck the keys to Xander, then drop down the three-foot drop, landing lightly in the stone tunnel underneath._

_Xander nods from above, then slides the panel back over, shutting out the light in the tunnel. It becomes pitch black, which makes you swallow thickly, before you back up against the wall. You listen as Xander locks the hatch, then puts the planks back._

_A few moments later, you hear a loud knock again, followed by the same voice as before. “Open the door! We are carrying out a search for a missing person!”_

_You hear Xander moving about, then responding, “Apologies, I was getting dressed. Come i-”_

_There is the sound of a scuffle or rough movement, and then heavy footsteps above. Your heart pounds away in your chest, and you scoot back in the tunnel, a little bit further underground. One of the guards speaks again. “Have you seen a girl, of seventeen years, in the past few five weeks?”_

_You can practically hear Xander’s sarcastic response before he says it out loud. “Well, yes, there are quite a few-”_

_“Don’t be smart with me, boy.” There is the sound of something being dragged around, then what seems to the wardrobe doors being opened. “She went missing five weeks and three days ago. She was wounded at the time, with an injury to her right shoulder, and was last seen in the river.”_

_It’s quiet for a few seconds before Xander replies. “No, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone of that description. Do you have a name?”_

_Good boy. Looking for information, seeing how much they’re telling people. Clever._

_There’s a grunt. “We can’t release her name for confidentiality reasons. She’s not a local in the town.”_

_Xander makes a displeased sound. “Well, I definitely haven’t seen anyone new in town. I don’t think I’ve seen a face I don’t know for a good few months now.”_

_There are several more moments of movement, and then the guard speaks again. “Alright. If you see anyone matching this description, or hear anything at all that could indicate her location, come to the guard and inform them immediately. Failure to do so is a breach of the law.”_

_Heavy footsteps boom above you, in the direction of the living room. They stop for a brief pause, before the guard shouts through the house. “If she is encountered, she must be incapacitated. Be wary – she is believed to be armed and is extremely dangerous. She is trained to harm people and must not be trusted.”_

_Damn Stefan. I’m going to make him suffer for this._

_There is a murmur from what sounds like Lena, and then you hear the front door shut. It’s completely silent for a while, and you hold your breath the entire time. Your hand hovers over the small dagger concealed in your boot, ready to pull it out._

_Anyone could turn on you now. Their confidence in you is almost certainly shattered, and they could succumb to fear. The trust you have in them disappears._

_Maybe five minutes pass, with some quiet conversation heard periodically, before you hear the planks being moved again. You jump slightly, preparing yourself for a fight._

_But it doesn’t come._

_When light streams in from above, you squint, blinking quickly to readjust your eyes to the brightness. Upon getting your vision back, they hone in on Xander leaning down to you, holding his hand down the hatch. He gives you an encouraging smile, nodding just a little._

_Deciding that you can’t just point blank not trust him after everything he’s done, you reach up and take his hand, holding on tight. He grips back, then pulls up with a strong jerk, allowing you to hold the wall and plant a foot on it. You push yourself up to the top of the hatch._

_When you’re up, he reaches down to put his arm around your middle, gently lifting you out and into the room again. You can’t help but get the sense that he still trusts you, as he smiles down at you without removing his arm. Glancing around the bedroom, you see that it’s empty._

_“You okay?” Xander asks tenderly, still watching your guarded expression with an almost wistful one of his own. Your eyes move back to his, thoughts becoming mixed. You suppose you’re okay, but you don’t know how long it will last._

_“Yeah.” He seems to relax a bit, but continues to give you a concerned look. You shake your head. “Aren’t you scared?”_

_He freezes, pupils expanding rapidly. A frown forms on his face. “What? What are you talking about?”_

_Your own eyebrows furrow. He must be messing with you. “You’re standing in a room with an ‘extremely dangerous’ person, who’s ‘trained to harm people and must not be trusted’. Aren’t you even a bit wary about me? How do you know I’m able to be trusted?”_

_He takes a long few seconds to stare at you, almost seeming baffled by your question._

_Then, he releases your hand and removes his arm from your waist, instead bringing his own hands up to cup your face._

_Your breath catches in your throat, muscles tightening instinctively. Your wrists move just slightly, still encased by your blades, as your arms jerk up. Your fingers grip his forearms without you even thinking about it, years of fight training kicking in to protect you._

_You see him pause, lips parting in surprise. You force yourself to calm down, letting go of him before lowering your hands again. He looks distraught now._

_“___...” He breathes out, not taking his fingers from your face. “I trust you because you chose to tell me everything he did to you in your life. I trust you because I could see that you weren’t lying while you were talking. I can see the pain in you when you have to remember everything that happened. I trust you because I understand your personality enough to know that, if you were going to betray us, you would have done it already. I know what you want and are hoping to do. I’m willing to risk anything on that.”_

_Now it’s your turn to be shocked. Your chest tightens at the sound of his sincerity. You know, from your gut instincts and the skills you have in reading people, that he’s not lying. It almost hurts, knowing that he cares and wants to help regardless of the risk that comes to him and his family from keeping you there. You don’t deserve such kindness for all you’ve done._

_You stay silent for a long moment, eyes lowering to his chest. Your eyebrows remain furrowed, but you look at him again when he tilts your face up, making you meet his gaze. He shakes his head. “I promise you, I support you and trust you completely. I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”_

_He pulls you against him, one hand resting on the back of your head, while the other places itself on your back. You find yourself leaning into him, somehow desperate for the security of his touch, yearning for Stefan’s demented upbringing of you to go away and allow you to relax entirely. He holds you tighter. A small smile tugs at his lips when he hears your soft whisper._

_“Thank you.”_

_“You’re welcome, ___.”_

**†** **♛** **†**

Back to the present, Byron notices that you look absolutely exhausted now, your expression betraying moderate discomfort. He watches you wince, reaching up to rub your throat. He feels a wave of guilt and nausea roll through him, observing the discolouration across your skin. It’s impossible to not see it.

“I think we should leave this here. I will go and get you some medicine to help with the pain.” He decides, pushing to his feet. You shake your head, looking up at him quickly.

“That’s not necessary. I don’t need any medicine, thank you.” He narrows his eye, wondering why on earth you’d refuse something to alleviate your pain.

“Why not?” He challenges, although gently, so as to not seem to be attacking you for your choice. You sigh heavily, gaze sliding to the fire once more.

“I’ve dealt with far worse pain than this without medicinal relief, so I don’t need any. It’s medicine that should be saved for someone who truly needs it.” Your voice quietens while you speak, and there’s something almost vulnerable in the tone towards the end. He wonders what you’re thinking about that is making you sound so hollow.

So, he approaches the couch once more, sitting down directly in front of you, since you’re facing the other end of it. You are slightly surprised by how close he is, although you make no move to distance yourself from him. It takes all of your willpower to not simultaneously plunge your blade into his hand or lean into his touch when he reaches out, slowly bringing his hand to your throat. It hovers near the skin, never touching, while he murmurs, “May I have a look myself? I will be gentle.”

Swallowing back the plethora of emotions you feel at the idea of him touching you, both nervousness and excitement included, you nod. Your head tips back slightly, allowing him to see your neck more easily. His hand, now covered by his glove again, moves forward.

You can’t completely hide your jump when his fingers brush across the flesh, lightly pressing the skin and moving it to be in the glow of the fire. His steely eye studies your throat with such an intensity that your heart starts to beat faster, adrenaline rushing through your veins. A shaky breath slips out of you, met by a sound of acknowledgement from him.

“I will apologise once more. My reaction was not warranted in any way, and I shouldn’t have become so violent so quickly.” He mutters out his words lowly, his voice turning gravelly and husky as a result. Ignoring the tingles that run up your spine at the sound, you respond, your words honest.

“You need not apologise. You’ve already said it, and I understand; I was an unidentifiable threat and had concealed weapons from you. It was an expected response.” He raises an eyebrow, pulling his hand away. You move your head back to its normal position, eyes focusing on his while he retorts evenly,

“Becoming instantly hostile and partially asphyxiating someone is an appropriate response?”

You can’t hold back a smile, however small it is. “With the way I was brought up, the appropriate response would be to kill the person, or incapacitate them to be at the point of near death.”

He doesn’t quite know what to say to that.

You shake your head again, changing the subject. You recall the cultural get-together being held by Protea soon, apparently a joint party to show off their ‘stabilisation of an ice sheet into a long-term settlement’.

“I was supposed to ask this earlier, but I forgot about it. Have you been contacted by Protea regarding the cultural meeting they’re holding next week?”

Byron nods. He remembers his immediate distrust of the invitation upon receiving it, despite Protea being an ally of Stein. “Yes. I am somewhat sceptical of their claims about making ice possible to stay on for an extended period of time.”

Although you don’t outwardly react to this, you’re relieved by his answer. “As are we. To be frank, I see very little logical and scientific sense in their method. I highly doubt the ice will hold for very long at all.”

You see a tiny hint of alarm spark in his eye. He goes completely still. “You think it will become unstable?”

Your gaze hardens, words sure. “It may hold, but with what we know of ice and the way it’s composed, and of our experiences with the ice in our territory, most ice will not support large amounts of weight for very long if at all. That is, unless it's significantly old and very thick. Should those conditions be met, it may remain stable.”

Your eyes move away to the fire again, narrowing thoughtfully. “Then again, this is all dependent on how they’ve ‘stabilised’ the ice. If they've damaged it or made it weak, there’s a high chance of it breaking. That’s not to mention if they put any heat sources around it.”

Byron is displeased with this. “So, there’s a good chance that this will end with the ice breaking.”

You run through the odds again, taking in all the factors you can think of, before nodding slowly. “Logically, I would say yes.”

He allows himself to frown a little, sighing with some agitation. “Let us hope that it doesn’t come to such a scenario.” He raises an eyebrow, still watching your face. “Perhaps we should be more vigilant while we are there, and work with one another to ensure the best chances of safety during the meeting.”

You nod. You want to keep as many people safe as possible, regardless of how stuck up and selfish many of the nobility are. “I agree. If we see any signs that the ice is destabilising, either myself or one of my knights will inform you.”

He is more satisfied now, a small smile tugging at his lips. “And we will do the same for you. I am meeting with the king and queen of Wysteria on Thursday, so I will discuss this with them as well. I would not want them or their nobility to be harmed.”

Although that raises the chance of diplomatic tension because of the essential ganging-up-on-Protea element of this plan, it’s the safest way to go for individuals. “Alright. But we should try to keep word from Protea that we aren’t trusting of their claims, since that could cause problems.”

“Of course.” He stands up again now, and you push yourself to your feet when he does. You are once again awestruck by how tall and strongly built he is, and his powerful aura seems to return while he stands there, looming over you. “I shall leave you to sleep, Gen-” He stops himself short, shaking his head just slightly. You see his earring sway with the movement. “Apologies. ___.”

You find yourself smiling properly at that, somewhat amused by the fact that the monarch of Stein is saying sorry for being too formal. “You need not apologise, Byron.” Your smile fades, arms crossing themselves over your stomach instinctively, as you utter, “But I also apologise, for hiding my blades from you. I appreciate your understanding of the situation.”

His eye gains a sad glint to it as he stares down at you. He studies your expression, seeing how tired you are, and he senses that you are feeling guilty as well.

“You need not apologise, ___.” His mouth twitches up at his use of your words. Your face relaxes slightly. “We all have to find ways to cope with our demons.”

Reminded of your throat, he glances at it, then returns his gaze to your eyes. “If you need any assistance with concealing the damage to your neck, it can easily be arranged. I will send Nico to your room in the morning when you wake up, so that he can get anything you will need.”

You nod, thinking for a moment. “I suppose I can just use my cloak to hide it until I return home, and then wear a scarf until it fades completely.”

That makes sense to Byron. “Good. I am sorry again, for the pain I have caused you. Do not hesitate to ask for anything if you need it.” He steps back to the door, placing his hand on the handle. He inclines his head, his voice softening slightly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Your own words are oddly gentle, and you become confused as to why you feel compelled to speak to him even more kindly now. “Thank you.”

He says nothing more while you bow your head with equal respect, simply giving you a tiny smile. With his cape fluttering behind him like a second shadow, he slips out of the room.

It’s silent for a long few seconds.

The full weight of the last hour hits you hard, and you collapse back onto the couch, your head falling into your hands. You exhale slowly, trying to calm yourself. Byron knows about your blades and your past. He knows who you are and how dangerous you can be.

And every time you so much as look at him or think about him, your heart goes into overdrive. You are so confused, so torn and unable to understand your emotions, and yet you are very much aware that all you need to do is listen to them. Your mind is not in control for once. You have to let your feelings take the reins this time.

It takes you maybe a minute to douse the flames in the fireplace and tidy the room again, as well as lock the door, and then you drop into bed.

Your body feels like it's absorbed in clouds, caressed and embraced by the silky covers around you. You’ve spent most of your life sleeping in the castle in Vinessia, which was luxurious, but you never really enjoyed it because if the reason for you being there. Although you’re more comfortable now, with your permanent residence in the castle chosen by the people, this is somehow more natural and soothing. You feel calmer in this moment.

You barely have time to think about this, and then the world fades into black, and you’re consumed by nightmares.

**†** **♛** **†**

“___.”

Nnng…

“___, are you awake?”

_What? Who… what time is it?_

“___, it’s six. The knights want to get going.”

_Get going? What do they mean-_

“Hey, wake up! If you don’t I’m breaking this door down, regardless of whether it’s Stein’s or not!”

_Goddamnit!_

You throw yourself up from the bed, eyes flying open. Before you even have time to stop your shaking, caused by a rather unpleasant nightmare, you jump out of the covers and run to the door. Identifying the two voices as Tobias and Xander, you unlock the door and open it slightly, peeking through it.

The said boys are stood outside the door, Xander looking concerned while Tobias seems annoyed.

Both of their faces go blank for a brief second, though, before they simultaneously contort with rage. You frown.

_What are they-_

“What the fuck?” Tobias exclaims, shoving the door open and dragging you back into your room. Xander comes in and shuts the door, stalking over to you.

Tobias takes hold of your face in one hand, forcing it back almost painfully. You can’t help but let out a surprised shout, panic overtaking your senses. You shove back from Tobias, ripping his hand away, before everything clicks. You realise what he’s looking at.

Your neck, probably now even more bruised than last night.

“What in hell happened? Who did this to you? Tell me right now, ___, or so help me God-” Tobias almost roars, lurching towards you again. Xander catches the back of his shirt and yanks him back. He grips his twin’s forearm and shakes him hard enough to get his attention through the anger.

“Lower your voice. We are not waking up the whole castle and having the guards running to see what’s happening. Be quiet, right now.” After pushing Tobias back a few steps, he turns to you, approaching more slowly. You watch him warily, all senses heightened and ready to fight or run, regardless of the fact that these are the people you care about the most, apart from your mother. “___, who hurt you? What happened?”

Now more awake and able to think, you force your panic to settle and respond, deciding to numb this down a little bit. “I got into a disagreement with someone.”

Xander’s expression flattens, and Tobias’ eyes go dark. Xander takes another step toward you. “We can see that, ___. Stop playing games. You didn’t have those bruises when you came to check on everyone at eleven. Who did you speak to afterwards?”

Your lips press together. Should you tell them? It’s not like they can damage any democratic relations or anything like that, but you can’t be absolutely certain that Tobias, at least, won’t try to kill Byron. He’s killed in your defence before, too many times for your liking, and has no problem with doing it. You doubt he would think any differently of killing Byron, even if he's a king.

“It…” You let out a breath, focusing on making your voice convincing and calm. “It happened because someone saw my blades. They came in my room while they were on show, and they thought I was a threat to them, so they went for me first. I made them understand what they’re for. There’s no danger to Vinessia from them.”

Xander frowns more deeply, looking even angrier. Tobias scowls, moving closer. “So who was it?”

You can’t not tell them. They’d manage to get it out of you somehow, or they’d force your hand into telling them from worry and fear. “… Byron.”

For a heartbeat, they don’t move.

“Son of a bitch!” Tobias snaps, whipping around. “I’ll fucking kill him!”

You lunge forward, grabbing his arm. He swings his other one around, aiming for your head, but you duck and avoid the hit. Swinging yourself to be in front of him, you bring your leg up and kick him back, away from the door. Releasing his arm, you point a finger at him, hissing,

“Don’t you fucking dare, Tobias. If you so much as raise a hand to him, we’ll have a war on our hands. I discussed it with him and explained what they’re for and what happened with Stefan. He knows now, and he accepts it on the premise that I’m not a threat to him or his people. We agreed to work with each other since I told him everything he wants to know. He would rather trust my word and what he knows about me than starting a conflict over something personal. Don’t jeopardise the safety of our country just because I screwed up and wasn’t careful enough.”

“He tried to fucking strangle you! Look at your neck! You can’t just shrug it off because he’s a king!” He retorts furiously, stabbing a finger back at you. Blind rage flushes through you, and you step up close to him, snarling,

“Newsflash, Tobias. I spent twelve fucking years taking beating after beating and torture after torture from Stefan purely because he was a king. That’s how life works. We got rid of our king, but you would never succeed in taking another nation down. Don’t be the one to undo all of our suffering and render it wasted effort.”

He recoils back at that, the words apparently hitting him hard. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. You can see him struggling with himself, can see anger fighting it out with the knowledge that you’re right.

You take advantage of the moment of thought, turning to Xander. “Keep him here. Don’t move from this room. I’m getting dressed, and then we’re leaving. If you want to give me hell for this, fine, but it will be done later. We’re not risking ruining everything just because I made a mistake.”

Giving him no time to refuse your order, you swipe the clothes Byron provided you for today and your weapons belt, then storm into the bathroom. You lock the door behind you and make quick work of swapping into the clothes, hearing Xander and Tobias muttering to each other angrily through the door. You fix your hair as much as you can, making it presentable, before you unlock the door and return to the bedroom.

You don’t even look at the two as you put your boots on, then quickly get your blades and strap them on. Retrieving your jacket and cape, you throw them on, clipping the cape onto your shoulders before taking your cloak. You feel them staring as you fasten it around you tightly, so much so that the part at the neck bunches up and conceals everything under your chin. Finally, when you’re done, you gather your dirty clothes and fold them neatly, putting them on the bed like Byron told you to when you came to your sort-of agreement about hospitality.

“Right,” You grumble, doing a last check of the room for anything that might be yours. You rub your face, feeling the effects of barely sleeping again through the night catching up to you. You woke up at least eight times, and reckon you got no more than two hours’ sleep.

You find nothing of yours in the room and nod, turning around and making your way to the door. You breeze past the twins, announcing, “We’re leaving. Let’s go.”

You open the door and step outside, only to jump slightly and jerk back. Nico is standing there, arms behind his back, and he grins brightly upon seeing you step out of the room. “Good morning, General ___!” He chirps.

“Good morning.” You respond, albeit somewhat warily. You feel Xander and Tobias come up behind you, standing on either side of you. They stay far closer than usual, so much so that you can feel their clothes touching your cloak and back.

Nico beams, bringing his hands in front of him. He presents to you a moderately sized box, ink blue and with a white ribbon tied around it. “King Byron wished to give you this, as both a gift and an offering of peace and cooperation between Stein and Vinessia. It’s also a token of gratitude, for helping us yesterday. We are very grateful for your assistance.”

You can’t help but be taken aback. He’s giving you and Vinessia a present? You’ve heard of peace offerings before, but that’s usually when an alliance has been formally introduced between two nations. You have no such relationship with Stein.

Still, you don’t let your surprise show and nod, giving the rose-haired boy a small smile in return. “Thank you. We appreciate such a kind gesture from Stein.”

He hands you the box with a huge grin, and you take it, feeling it to be quite light. “You’re very welcome, General ___. King Byron is waiting downstairs, since he wished to be here to see you and your knights off. If you’d like, I can give you a moment before you come downstairs, or you can go down now if you wish to.”

You know what that means. That’s the polite, inconspicuous way of saying that you should have a look at the present now, so that you can respond accordingly and appropriately when you go downstairs. “Could we have a moment, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

His head bobs up and down in a nod before he bows respectfully, stepping back. “Of course. I’ll be around the corner; just give me a call when you’re ready to go downstairs.”

With that, he leaves, swiftly making his way down the corridor. When he gets to the end, he turns the corner, and then his footsteps stop.

You look down at the box, feeling a rush of confusing emotions. It’s been years since you’ve been given a real gift or present, since Xander and Tobias weren’t able to be with you on your birthdays due to the revolution. Christmases weren’t celebrated and were monitored closely under Stefan, so you didn't really have any after you were taken by him and got out.

This feels almost personal, like Byron might care just a little, and it’s a physical show of that. It’s a display of intention, and you guess it’s probably going to be kind intention.

Ignoring the boys eyeing the box suspiciously, you carefully untie the ribbon, letting it dangle from your fingers. You then lift up the lid, placing it underneath the box.

Your heart contracts. Tobias growls.

Inside is a raven black scarf, made of thick material that you immediately identify as the same used for winter cloaks like the one you’re wearing. It’s arranged in the box in a circle, with an envelope settled atop it. Your name is written on the front in beautiful cursive. Breathing in quietly, you take the letter and turn it over in your hand, seeing the crest of Stein printed into the seal.

“Here.” Xander breaks you from your thoughts, lightly taking hold of the corner of the box. You let him take it, then use your free hand to gently open the envelope. Inside is a single piece of thick parchment, and the smell of fresh ink wafts up from it as you do. So, he wrote this sometime this morning, or in the last few hours. Pulling the parchment out, you read the message on it, again written in that perfect, controlled cursive.

 

_“ ___,_

_I would like to express my apologies once more for our intrusion into Vinessia territory yesterday, and for the damage I caused you as a result of my hasty assumptions. Consider this a show of my apology; I hope that it might help you while leaving Stein Castle, and on your journey back._

_I look forward to seeing you at the cultural meeting._

_Byron.”_


	7. Part VII | Gift. Fall. Alliance.

**†** **♛** **†**

**Previously:**

“Here.” Xander breaks you from your thoughts, lightly taking hold of the corner of the box. You let him take it, then use your free hand to gently open the envelope. Inside is a single piece of thick parchment, and the smell of fresh ink wafts up from it as you do. So, he wrote this sometime this morning, or in the last few hours. Pulling the parchment out, you read the message on it, again written in that perfect, controlled cursive.

“ ___,

I would like to express my apologies once more for our intrusion into Vinessia territory yesterday, and for the damage I caused you as a result of my hasty assumptions. Consider this a show of my apology; I hope that it might help you while leaving Stein Castle, and on your journey back.

I look forward to seeing you at the cultural meeting.

Byron.”

**†** **♛** **†**

You read this in all but a few seconds, and you feel your cheeks heat up ever so slightly at the last sentence and informal feeling of the wording. He used your name on its own, and used his own without his title.

He’s making good on his promise. He’s meeting what he’s said he would give.

You hold your hand out for the box again, and Xander gives it back, having watched your face closely the whole time. You put the parchment back in its envelope and place it inside the box, then pull the scarf out. It’s soft but still thick, you observe, and you smile at the fact that it’s black, just like the rest of your clothes.

“What a prick…” Tobias shakes his head, glaring down the corridor where Nico is waiting. You ignore him, staying silent. Folding the scarf in half, you allow Xander to take the box again when he offers, before you push your hood back, exposing the skin of your neck. You see Xander grimace, then shudder slightly, fury briefly passing across his face.

Trying not to pay attention to him, you wrap the soft material around your throat. You take a moment to fix it there, feeding the ends through the loop, before you nod. It covers your whole neck, which takes a weight off your mind.

“Okay.” You murmur, taking the box back. “Let’s go.”

You set off down the corridor without looking to the two, knowing that if they’re going to say or do anything, it’s probably going to be a complaint or something that will start an argument. Upon reaching the end of the corridor, Nico spots you and beams again. “Are you ready to go downstairs?”

“Yes, we’re ready, thank you.” You reply. He nods, starting off down the corridor towards the main stairwells. He walks beside you, but glances down at you for a moment before speaking again. You can hear Xander and Tobias following behind you both closely.

“If I may say so, the scarf looks lovely on you. I’m sure King Byron will be glad you’re wearing it.” You raise an eyebrow at his forward approach to how Byron might react, but you brush this off while you respond simply,

“Thank you. We appreciate the hospitality that has been shown to us here.” Nico just hums, bouncing alongside you.

Not a minute later, you descend the stairs into the entrance, where you see Byron and Albert waiting, along with several other knights. When your eyes touch on the young king, your insides clench in an oddly pleasant way, heartbeat fluttering unevenly. You keep your face impassive while you go down, but you can’t hold back the tightness that forms in your lips when you spot another man that you recognise, stood off in the corner.

Dark indigo hair similar to Byron’s. Eyes of a lighter indigo, very tall and wearing dark blue clothes. Chains all over him and a strong smirk on his lips, you immediately identify him. That’s the foreigner you saved during the revolution.

You reach Byron, stopping maybe a foot away from him. Nico bounces over to be stood behind him and to the side, but he smiles at you all the while. Byron nods, a smile of his own gracing his mouth. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

You nod, keeping your tone neutral but respectful. “Yes, I slept very well, thank you.”

You’re lying, of course.

He looks pleased, although he’s not entirely convinced. He doesn’t let that show, though. “I’m glad. I see you accepted our gift; you suit it.”

You’re sure you can feel your cheeks warming up again. You try to ignore it, nodding with a small smile. “I am very grateful for it. Thank you very much, for both the gift and your hospitality.”

He returns the smile gently, then glances over to the man in the corner. Said male walks over, coming to stand between you and Byron, to your left. He gives a quick bow, keeping his eyes on you even while Byron speaks. “This is Sid. I believe you’ve met before.”

Your eyes study the tall man for a moment, scrutinising him. Now that he’s not injured and under attack, he seems to be considerably less serious and cockier. “Yes. I fought with you during the revolution.”

‘Sid’ nods, smirk growing even more. You feel Xander and Tobias move closer, to hover right behind you. You resist the urge to glare at them while Sid talks. “Yeah. I wanted to thank you, for helping me out. I appreciate it.”

You just smile a little again, glad to see him alive and kicking, and apparently an ally. “You’re welcome. Have you recovered from your injuries? You were hurt, if I recall correctly.”

His smirk widens into a grin, and you don’t quite trust it from gut instinct. You have a feeling he’s a good guy, but that he’s probably got a huge pride and ego. “Yep, I’m all good now. I guess I should say sorry for not watching my back.”

Your smile grows just a little, body relaxing. You start to build a picture of his character and what he’s really like, and decide that he’s probably like Tobias; a pain in the arse, but soft on the inside, although very proud and arrogant. “You don’t need to say sorry. It’s easily done, and you were presumably in unknown territory. You unfortunately got mixed up in the biggest fight, too.”

He laughs, the sound deep and resonating, echoing through the hall. “You got that right. My timing was impeccable.”

You can’t help but let out a small laugh of your own, although it’s more of a breathy chuckle. Sid grins more at the sight, and you see Nico beaming at you. Byron has an unreadable look on his face, but his whole expression softens significantly while you laugh.

Sid speaks again, giving another quick bow. “Good luck with Vinessia. If you ever need to know something about someone, I’m your guy. I’m the best information dealer around.”

Byron cuts Sid a look. Knowing him and the way he is, he’s looking for an opportunity to figure you out as a person and possibly mess with you a little to test you. Byron doesn’t like the thought of that at all, but he doesn’t understand why.

Eyeing the movement of Byron’s stare and observing the sudden tension in his face, the muscles in your back go rigid. There’s some silent communication going on here, and it seems to be a response to Sid’s words. You unconsciously try to work out why Byron would be disapproving of them, other than the obvious thing of Sid perhaps being Byron’s main information dealer. The job seems very suiting for Sid’s personality. “Thank you, Sid. We will make sure to do so should we require your services.”

Sid just smirks again, nodding a little. He steps back, and Byron speaks again, the commanding authority of his voice returning your attention solely to him. “I imagine your knights are growing restless, since they’ve been outside for some time. I will escort you to the stables.”

You nod once more, admittedly relieved at the thought of being home and back where you know your territory. You want to be there so you can protect your people and keep them safe, and so you can be yourself again. Keeping up this professional demeanour is tiring you out. “Thank you.”

He turns around, cape fluttering behind him. He starts to make his way to the main doors, his knights surrounding him protectively. Tobias and Xander stay close while you follow Byron out, and Tobias seems to be inching closer with every step. Risking a quick glance around you, you see that none of the Steiner knights are close enough to hear you, murmuring, “Tobias, calm yourself. We’re nearly out. Keep yourself composed.”

He shoots you a glare, but you don’t react both outwardly and inwardly. You’re that used to receiving such glares that they have no effect on you now. You suppose that’s something you are somewhat grateful to Stefan for.

It takes a few minutes to get to the stables, but when you reach them, you see that your knights have already prepared the horses and are waiting with them. They visibly relax upon seeing you, Tobias and Xander, but they continue to watch the Steiners around them warily. Byron comes to a gradual halt a little away from your knights, turning around to face you.

Stopping in front of him, you meet his gaze while he speaks. “My knights will take you to the nearest border to Vinessia. I would advise you to be cautious around the area of the border, due to the increased activity of bandits and resistance groups there of late. I’m sure you are already aware of their presence.”

You nod. You’ve been working on eradicating the bastards in the past few weeks. “Of course. We are currently in the process of taking the groups down, and should be able to fully stabilise our side of the border in the coming weeks.”

He returns the nod, pleased. “Although we have not been able to pay as much attention to the issue as we would have liked recently, we will also increase our efforts to rid the area of the bandits. Perhaps we can coordinate our actions to make them as effective as possible.”

There’s that little smile again. Your own forms without you even having time to stop it. “Most definitely. Perhaps we can discuss this further at the cultural meeting and set up a formal agreement on our monitoring of the area.”

His expression softens once more, and it feels like your whole body melts at the gentleness in his eye. You try to brush the sensation off as nerves.

“We would appreciate such an opportunity greatly. Let us do that, then.” He steps closer to you, now maybe fifteen centimetres away from you. He looms over your smaller form, and an odd thrill sweeps through your limbs, sparking and tickling over your skin. “Until next time, General ___. I look forward to our future coordination of our countries, and the improvements we will hopefully make to this region.”

_What the hell is wrong with me? My heart’s beating so fast. This is worrying. This can’t be… God, I hope this isn’t…_

“As do we. We hope we’ll be able to better both of our nations and their peoples, and that Vinessia can prove itself to all of the other nations as a reliable ally.” Your response is cool but honest, and he nods once more. You return the gesture, then decide that you should probably get moving, since your heart’s going to give out at this rate. “Until next time, King Byron.”

“Until next time, General ___.”

The way he says your name, the way it sounds very different to how he says other words and names, makes you want to both scream, cry and laugh at the same time. It makes you confused but happy, frustrated yet relieved, and completely and utterly joyous all at once. It’s a very bizarre feeling.

Pushing these thoughts back, you give a shallow bow, then calmly walk past him to where your horse is waiting. Xander and Tobias hover closely, only separating when they get to their horses. You mount your horse confidently, having done it so many times that it’s completely natural to you, before settling yourself comfortably and taking the reins.

Xander and Tobias do the same with the rest of your knights, and when you’re all ready, you see Albert, the Commander of the Royal Stein Guard, ride up to you all on his horse. He gives Byron a respectful nod, asking,

“Shall I escort them to the border now, Your Majesty?” Byron nods back, answering,

“Yes. Take them through the town slowly, but feel free to change your speed once you reach the rural areas.” Albert shifts on his horse, expression serious.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The brunette turns to you, his tone polite when he speaks. “If you will follow me, I will take you to the border.”

“Of course.” Your response is simple but satisfactory, as Albert looks back down to Byron, then backs up on his horse.

“I will return as swiftly as possible, Your Majesty.” Seeing Byron’s approving look, he turns around on his horse, motioning for you to follow. You incline you head to Byron, seeing him do it in return once more, before you tap your heels against your horse’s sides.

You resist the urge to glance back at him, and also the strong desire to start galloping away to safety with your knights, caused by being surrounded by the Steiners. Albert sets off down the road at a moderate pace, and the Steiner knights maintain a protective although slightly weak formation around your own troop.

Xander and Tobias ride on either side of you, in line with your horse, as you have always told them to do. You made it explicitly clear to them that, although you have vastly more knowledge and experience than them, that does not mean that they should position themselves behind or away from you. You don’t value yourself above them. If you did, you’d be slipping into the same persona that Stefan displayed around most people and maintained almost permanently.

As you ride through the town, you take in the sights and sounds and feelings around you. The occasional carriage rides along the road, moving out of the way of your little convoy, people chatter amongst themselves in groups and flocks. Women, as far as you can see, stand in their dresses, hair elaborate and beautiful. The men stand in suits or uniforms of some kind, the colours for the most part dark and deep.

There’s an atmosphere of calm content as you ride through, but it disappears when the citizens take notice of your group’s presence. There are some nobles dotted around, you observe, and a considerable amount of them regard you with distrust or suspicion. You don’t look at any of them or acknowledge their sneers, simply keeping your head forward and gaze straight.

Your expression remains blank, and although you hate that you’re doing it, you chant the words Stefan drilled into your head to keep yourself perfectly composed.

_They mean nothing. They’re deflecting their own emotions by targeting you. Don’t even consider them to matter. They have no value. Their words are empty. Their stares cannot harm you._

A shuddered breath rattles out of you quietly. You hold back a wince.

_Look what he’s done to me. What a monster I am._

It doesn’t take long to get out of the town and into the rural lands. The weather is much better today, with small, white clouds drifting through the otherwise clear sky, the temperature at what you guess is around sixteen degrees. The storm has left its mark, though; you can see remnants of it in the patches of snow yet to dissolve, and in the occasional fallen tree when you ride into the more forested areas.

Before you know it, you all come up on the border, and Albert stops before turning to you. “We have arrived, General ___. We will remain here for a moment to ensure you cross the border safely, and then we will return to Stein.”

Fair game. You can see why he’d want to do that. “I understand. Thank you for the escort.”

He inclines his head. “You are welcome, General ___.”

You turn to your knights, more desperate than ever to get home now that you’re so close to it. “Let's go.”

You ride forward, seeing the Steiner knights at the border motioning you through. You ignore their piercing stares while you make your way across the border, moving into your country once more. Breathing out a sigh of relief, you continue onward, hearing the sound of the horses’ hooves behind you against the vegetation. Your confidence increases and solidifies when you ride further into the forest, but you glance behind you when you hear the sound of more movement from horses.

You watch for a brief moment as Albert and his knights turn around, starting to make their way back towards Stein’s heart. The thought makes your body yearn to be home, although you won’t feel quite settled even in the castle. Years of being tortured and beaten in there mean that it’s not exactly your favourite place to be, let alone live.

But, that’s what the people wanted, for reasons you’ll never be able to fathom. Ultimately, the power lies with them. You do as they ask.

“Right,” You sigh out, loud enough to be heard by your troop. “Let’s make a last push for home.”

Many of the younger ones cheer and hoot at that, apparently happy to be going home. You don’t blame them. You know they’ve got family and friends that are probably worried sick about them, since they’ve never not come home from a patrol without prior knowledge that it will happen.

This makes your throat thicken just a little, although you just spur your horse into a faster gallop and don't outwardly show any emotion; you have four people in the whole world that you can consider family, and three of them aren’t blood related.

You have yet to speak to your mother, since it was not set in stone that you would survive after the revolution. You were injured to the point of brushing death, and it was never anywhere near certain that you’d pull through. You didn’t want her to have any real hope of getting you back when the odds were stacked against you so strongly.

Such is life. You were given a shitty set of cards, and you just have to do the best to deal with them and play them right.

The ride home is mostly silent, with the occasional banter or conversation coming from the knights. You let them talk, as long as they’re relatively quiet and keep an eye out for trouble, but thankfully nothing happens while you’re on your way back. The forests are seemingly empty today, which happens sometimes, and you’re grateful for it. You don’t think you can take much more mental strain today, and probably for the rest of the week.

You soon come up on the main town, where the castle is. You nearly cry out in relief, instantly feeling security and safety wash over you. You’re back. You’re with the people again. You’re in Vinessia. You made it home for another day, at least.

The process of riding up to the stables and taking care of your horse passes quickly, since you’re more comfortable here and know where everything is. You can feel the need to just sit down and stop thinking, the urge to completely relax and ignore your stress, becoming stronger by the second.

You finish taking care of your horse, and you give her a pat on the nose before nodding to your knights. Xander and Tobias are still finishing up with theirs, and you use the opportunity to slip out of the stables, making your way through the main street to the castle. You hear people talking about you, some saying that they’re glad you’re back, some wondering where you’ve been, some saying you look ill or exhausted. You don’t respond to any of the comments. You just keep walking.

That is, until you’re approached by one of the knights who isn’t in your main troop, one of the first females to have joined after you established the new army. Her blonde hair bounces around her face as she jogs over in her uniform, one hand on the sword in her belt to prevent it from flying everywhere. She looks somewhat calm, and she stops in front of you, cerulean hues staring into your eyes intently. Her name is Tova.

“___,” She sighs out, sounding relieved. “We received your letter. Are you alright? Are the others okay?”

You nod, raising a hand and placing it on her shoulder. You know she’s quite close to the other knights, and that even though she’s trying not to outwardly express her concern, her voice and words betray her worry. “We’re all fine. The storm was too dangerous to risk travelling in, so we stayed over there for the night and came back as soon as we could. The others are in the stables.”

She lets out a breath, her muscles relaxing under your fingers. You lower your hand while she responds. “I’m glad. Everyone was worried sick when you all didn’t come back on time. It was quite tense here until the letter arrived.”

She smiles now, expression softening. “Everything’s fine here. Finn and Liv sort of decided to get your paperwork out of the way for you, since they thought you might be tired when you got back. I checked on them at five yesterday, and they’d cleared all of this week’s work and some of next week’s.”

You groan.

Finn and Liv are siblings you know in town. They’re amazingly intelligent and knowledgeable, and are considered to be the ‘Real nobles’ of the nation, along with several others. They assisted you to some extent with strategising the revolution, in particular with taking down Stefan’s industries to weaken him before you struck.

They often offer to help with your paperwork under the supervision of a knight, although you usually refuse, since you don’t want them to be weighed down by such heavy workloads. You were raised to deal with such stress and pressure so it doesn’t bother you much, but they still try their best to get involved. You didn't trust their enthusiasm at first, but you’ve learned that they both have a very strong desire to help and idolise you, since by process of hunting down the nobles who supported Stefan, you killed the man who had their parents murdered.

“Those little…” You bite back your swear, shaking your head. “Alright. Are they in the castle?”

She nods. “They knew you’d be annoyed, but they were hell-bent on helping out. They said they were concerned about how tired you’ve looked lately.”

That makes you scowl. You roll your eyes, muttering annoyedly, “People really need to stop getting involved in my health. It’s none of their business.”

Tova’s eyes show stronger worry now, as she reaches out to place a hand on your upper arm. You force yourself not to jump, somewhat taken off guard at the sudden, unexpected touch. “We all get involved because, to be honest, ___, you haven’t seemed very invested in it yourself. You look ill, and completely exhausted, and we know you have a mountain of stress on you. That’s a lot to cope with alone.”

Now increasingly agitated and ready to commit homicide, you shrug her hand off, stepping back. “I can handle it. I got through hell in that castle pretty much alone, spent a good amount of time hiding from guards on my own for days on end, and survived at least two near death experiences. I think I’m mentally stable enough to cope. Thank you for the concern, anyway.”

With that, you sigh and turn around, shaking your head. As much as that might seem overly cold, rude and dramatic, you know you probably would say something cruel if you keep talking.

This is why you didn't want to lead. This is why you begged people to vote against you when the citizens decided on an election and you were nominated. You’re too volatile, too harsh and emotionally disconnected, to be kind to them. You have your moments and good days, but they’re few and far between, and have been increasingly rare lately.

_Huh. Maybe the stress is too much._

You scowl, approaching the bridge to the castle.

_I’ll just hope that they get tired of my mood swings and kick me out of power. That’ll be the day._

You find your pace faltering upon reaching the bridge. A wave of nausea rolls over you, eyes honing in on the exact spot that you were shot, then where you let yourself fall into the river afterwards. The world around you morphs, briefly distorting and changing into your memory. You come to a complete stop, panic and distress gripping your mind.

You feel it all over again, that awful burning in your shoulder, the crushing weight of gravity on you, the moment when you drowned and the world turned black.

“___.”

Everything snaps back into place, not even a second having passed. Your body whirls around to the source of the sound. Your hands shift, ready to fight someone.

Xander and Tobias stand there, gazes piercing through you. Xander’s expression turns to one of remorse upon seeing your slightly panicked, vulnerable eyes, and Tobias’ still-present anger diminishes just a little. You force yourself to relax, then turn back around and start to walk across the bridge. You keep your eyes away from the sides of the bridge.

“___!” Xander calls to you, jogging up to your side. You hear Tobias come with him, but you don’t acknowledge them or look at them. You just need to get out of the view of the people and try to rest, since you know you’ve not had enough sleep to function properly. “Hey!”

“___, Goddamnit, stop ignoring us!” Tobias snaps, glaring down at you from the side. A sharp, mean response rises up in you, but you bite it back, holding your tongue between your teeth. “For fuck’s sake. You may be the most mature of everyone in this country at times, but you can be really freaking childish when you want to be.”

You narrow your eyes, feeling anger explode in your chest. Adrenaline rushes through you, and your hands clench into fists at your sides.

You’re coming up on the castle now, having just walked past the walls surrounding it. “Tobias, do me a favour and shut up. We’ve already established that I can be a spoilt, childish brat and that I hold grudges. We know that I’m a moody bitch when I feel like it and today is one of those days, so I don’t see why it’s necessary to say it again.”

“To get you to listen to me, that’s why!” He exclaims, throwing his hands up. You all walk through the large front doors as they’re opened by two knights, and you remind yourself to give them a grateful nod while you go in. They give them back. “You said we would talk about what happened with Byron when we got back to Vinessia. We’re here. Start talking.”

You roll your eyes, ascending the stairs to the main corridors and wings. You head towards your room. “Yes, let’s just start talking about how the King of Stein saw my _blades_ , panicked, and tried to strangle me, but then apologised when he was made aware of the reason for them being there. Try to think a little bit, Tobias. I want this country to prosper, not be drowned in blood by Stein mere months after it was given its freedom back.”

It takes another minute or so to reach your room, where you walk in and start to unclip your cloak. The twins follow you in and Xander shuts the door again, while Tobias growls, “Let me see it.”

You send him a glare, taking your cloak off and hanging it up before doing the same with your cape.  “No. You saw it earlier, and there’s nothing more to see. It’s collateral damage. Welcome to the diplomatic world.”

Xander locks the door before approaching you, speaking in a softer voice than Tobias. “___, at least let us check that no damage has been done. If it’s bruised that badly, he could have seriously hurt something.”

You stop in your movements for a moment, feeling your chest starting to heave with frustration. Your jaw clenches while you try to think of the nicest way to phrase this. “Look, you two need to understand that I can take care of myself. Yes, I was nearly strangled last night. I checked for damage and for respiratory problems. I know enough, probably more than both of you put together, to identify an injury caused by asphyxiation.

“I am fucking exhausted, Tobias, and don’t want to sit here arguing about whether or not I should have to put up with getting a few bruises to ensure Vinessia’s safety. Quite frankly, I don’t have to. _I_ am taking care of my health, because _I_ am deciding to try to sleep now, and _I_ will deal with the consequences of not being careful around Byron. Not you, Tobias, not you, Xander, and not anyone else. I am not a baby. Stop treating me like one.”

Finished ranting, you take your jacket off, throwing it onto the love seat near the window. Forcing back a shiver at the chilled air of the room, now seeping through to your skin since you’re in your long-sleeved shirt, you then go to take your boots off.

Your vision tips. A flash of a hand coming down at your face flashes before you, the feeling of your body meeting stone. Another memory resurfaces, another recollection of the pain you’ve been put through.

Your ears ring. You barely hear Xander and Tobias shout your name as your legs give out from under you. Your limp body hits the floor, head colliding with it painfully, while the world around you spins and blurs. Your heart beats too fast, too hard, and you are suddenly filled with a sense of dread. Have you pushed your body too far? Is this finally death, or is this just the after-effects of everything you’ve been through coming back again?

This all happens in a second, and then Xander’s arms curl under you, lifting your upper body against his chest. Your head lolls to the side, eyes closing, while he says something in a panicked voice to Tobias. A hand touches your cheek briefly, and then you can hear his voice far away, almost like he’s drifting from you.

He says your name. Your ability to understand and comprehend sounds slowly starts to come back.

“___, come back to me. Come on, I’m here, you’re okay. Open your eyes, ___. I’m sorry we were angry with you. I know it wasn’t your fault. I was just angry that he hurt you; please, just come back to me.”

_But I’m so tired…_

Ignoring your desire to sleep for the next century, your eyelids flutter open.

Your vision slowly sharpens, allowing you to make out his face above you. He stares down at you with painful concern, but a ragged breath heaves out of him when he sees that you’re conscious. He is cradling you in his arms, your head resting in the crook of his elbow, while he strokes your face with his free hand.

_How many times he’s done this, or things like this… how many times he’s had to hold me against him to stop me from shaking, to calm me down or settle me from a nightmare… it’s not fair. He shouldn’t have to do this._

“I’m sorry…” Your voice is ever so weak and quiet, but he hears the words. He shakes his head quickly, hushing you.

“You have nothing to apologise for, ___. God, you’d think you’d have chosen to go through hell in this place, with the way you say sorry when you’re like this.” He pulls you up higher, allowing him to press a kiss to your forehead. “And even if you’re like this because of sleep, that’s not your fault either. How much sleep did you get last night? How many times did you wake up?”

You manage a grimace, feeling a tremor run through your body. “Woke up eight times at least… that I can remember. About two hours sleep probably.”

He stiffens around you for a moment, and then you hear him swallow thickly. Without speaking a word, he hooks an arm under your knees, lifting you up. He walks over to your bed, then sits down on it before lying back and laying you down next to him. He pulls you into his side, smoothing your hair back, whispering sweet nothings to you.

“Sleep, ___. I’m here. Tobias will be back in a minute, and we’ll be here for you.”

Your body gives in to exhaustion. Your muscles lose all of their tension, and you feel your mind give over to the hazy, pitch black darkness of sleep.

But as you drift into the void, you realise one thing in a sudden, very strange, very unexpected moment of clarity. You realise why your heart is suddenly aching, and why it’s been aching every time you’ve seen Byron Wagner for the past few months. You realise why you are suddenly feeling conflicted and almost worried lying in Xander’s arms.

_I think I care about him. I think I wish he were the one holding me. I think I want him to care._

If you had enough energy, you would start to cry again.

_But when has the world ever given me what I want?_

**†** **♛** **†**

A week later, you are feeling much stronger and more stable. You took the week off from your duties completely and spent near enough all of your time sleeping, although you feel guilty about it, since you practically can’t sleep without someone being there. When someone’s with you, you usually only get a few nightmares and otherwise sleep soundly, whereas on your own, you barely sleep at all.

Along with sleeping, you caught up on your paperwork and where it’s up to. You also went over all of the languages that you can speak and bettered your fluency in them through some quiet, alone-time studying in the library.

Now, it’s time for the cultural meeting ‘on ice’, as stated by the Protean noble who is hosting it. Apparently, he said that he wanted to “embrace the winter’s swift approach, and demonstrate to the other nations how Protea has furthered its technological capabilities in the respect of ice skating and walking on ice.”

Bullshit, you think.

Still, you have to go, so here you are, riding to the meeting on your horse, ten knights riding near you, with the most prominent of your nobility riding in carriages behind you.

Your throat has healed and the bruises are gone, so you aren’t wearing your scarf anymore. However, you probably wouldn’t have worn it just in case something does go wrong with this ice. You’re almost certain it will, and Giles Christophe, the advisor to the King and Queen of Wysteria, also echoed your concerns. He was sceptical about the legitimacy of Protea’s claims in the meeting between Stein and Wysteria, as you were told in a letter by Byron.

You smile, remembering the odd way in which you received the letter.

**†** **♛** **†**

_“En, to, tre, fire, fem, seks, syv, åtte, ni, ti…”_

_You rattle numbers off in Norwegian, the language that was originally used by the people who first settled in Vinessia. It was supposed to the permanent first language of Vinessia’s inhabitants, but the monarchy threw that idea out of the window as soon as they got the chance. You’ve spoken it fluently for years now, but you like to keep on top of it and make aren’t forgetting chunks of the language._

_You are sitting in your room at your desk, writing sentences in different languages absently. Your attention is drawn away, however, when you hear what sounds like a hoot and the sound of something touching metal from outside. Eyes narrowing, you look over to the balcony, which you can see through the French doors._

_And you go still, baffled, when you see an owl sitting atop the railing._

_Standing up, you place a hand on your sword, ready to use it should this be a trap of some sort. You sense no danger as you open the door and step onto the balcony, then look around you, inspecting both below and above your position. Finding nothing, you approach the owl cautiously, murmuring to yourself,_

_“Why are you here?” It’s now that you notice the message fixed to its leg, a small roll of parchment secured with a band. Somewhat unsure about this, but also thinking that it must be here for a reason, you reach slowly. The owl remains still while you do, and your fingers hesitantly touch the parchment. The owl simply tilts its head, watching you intently, and you let out a breath before pulling the parchment out._

_Frowning slightly, you unroll it._

_Your heart stutters, then starts to pound in your chest. Your nerves prickle at the words before you, written in unmistakeable, beautiful cursive._

_“___,_

_I met with the King and Queen of Wysteria on Thursday and raised the concerns we had regarding the cultural meeting. They too had doubts about the safety of the ice and agreed to be mindful of its condition during the meeting when we will be outside. Their advisor, Giles Christophe, was particularly concerned about the idea of so many people being on the ice at one time and offered for the Royal Wysterian Guard to work with both my Guard and yours. By doing this, we raise our chances of being able to maintain the safety of everyone at the event as much as possible, with the given circumstances._

_The King and Queen also recommended that you and your knights, as well as your nobility, bring spare clothes with you all to prepare for the worst case scenario; due to Wysteria Palace being the closest royal residence to the location of the meeting besides Protea Castle, where the Wysterian party would at the very least not be accepted, they have offered for anyone from our parties to stay there instead should something go wrong._

_That way, it is less likely that any of the nobility, knights or ourselves will become ill should we be exposed to the water. This may seem like extreme foresight, but we thought it necessary to ensure that there are no further problems down the line if the suspicions we all hold are correct._

_I should not have communicated this in such a manner, but I was unable to dispatch a messenger to Vinessia quickly enough, which is why I elected to use this method._

_Hopefully this message has reached you without issue. The owl who delivered this is called Spinner, and he will wait for you to give him a message before leaving. If you wish not to reply, you need only close the clasp on his leg and he will return to me._

_Until the meeting,_

_Byron.”_

_Your gaze has softened while you’ve been reading the letter, and your head drifts up and down._

_“I see.” You utter gently, to yourself, words lost in the late-night breeze._

_You don’t think twice in going back into your room, retrieving a blank piece of parchment small enough to fit the band. Glancing back at the railing, you see that the owl is still sitting there, waiting patiently for either a message or for the clasp to be closed. You lower your head once more, placing the parchment on the desk and picking up your quill. Thinking for a moment, you start to write your response._

_“Byron,_

_Thank you for notifying me of Wysteria’s opinion on this, and for giving me forewarning on this matter. I will inform my knights so that they will respond to any issue accordingly, and will work with your Guard and Wysteria’s to keep those attending the event safe._

_Vinessia will accept Wysteria’s offer for help should the worst case scenario happen, and I will ensure that my nobility, knights and myself bring extra clothing with them._

_We will further discuss this, granted subtly, at the meeting with the Captain of the Wysteria Royal Guard and their King and Queen if possible, in order to ensure that there are no clashes between our forces and that we can work together as effectively as possible._

_The message arrived directly at the castle. You’ll have to tell me how he knew where to go at the meeting; I’m intrigued by how intelligent he is._

_Thank you again. Until the meeting,_

____.”_

_Letting out another breath through your mouth, you roll the parchment up after the ink dries, then approach Spinner and tentatively attach the message to his leg. Upon snapping the clasp into place, you stand back, watching as he hoots and spreads his wings. He launches himself from the railing, soaring high into the sky. You see that he flies straight in the direction of Stein’s border with Vinessia, which makes you smile._

_You spend a while staring up at the sky, watching it fade into an ocean of indigo, then near black. The stars come out, the moon waning but still bright above you. Your eyes move across the town, and your body relaxes, tension disappearing from your muscles. You lean against the railing, staring down as people in the town walk through the streets even though it’s getting late, staring at couples having fun and friends having a drink together._

_Freedom. This is what I’ve achieved._

_Feeling the chill from the night-time seeping into your bones, you head back inside after a little while, shutting and locking the balcony doors. Closing the curtains, you decide to try to sleep until Xander or Tobias come up, hoping that you might be able to go asleep, and then they won’t feel like they have to stay. Well, that’s assuming that you aren’t having a nightmare when they come in._

_Sighing to yourself softly at your thoughts, you roll the message up and put it in your drawer at the back, hiding it under some of your documents and files. You then pad over to your bed and lie down after dousing the candles, getting under the covers and facing the door. It’s become a habit of yours, since you’re never really fully relaxed and are always ready for an attack of some sort. Stefan used to do that a lot to train you into being prepared for anything._

_Closing your eyes, you let your thoughts drift. Almost instantly, they go to Byron, remembering his strong aura of power, his deep voice and calm composure. You find yourself becoming somewhat sleepy, until your imagination kicks in._

_Byron, with a crown on his head, sat on a throne atop a pile of bodies. Blood everywhere, his face morphing into Stefan’s._

_Both kings. Byron can probably be just as cruel. Byron probably doesn’t care, just like Stefan. He’s lying. You don’t matter._

_Goddamnit. I can’t even lie in bed without that bastard getting in the way._

_You sigh shakily, pressing your face into the pillow._

_Maybe three minutes later, there’s a quiet knock at the door. Your eyes remain closed while you call quietly, “Come in.”_

_Light streams into the shadowy room as the door opens, and your eyelids flutter open, allowing you to identify Xander’s form in the doorway. He pauses, probably surprise that it’s already dark in the room, before he steps inside and closes the door before locking it. You can make out him walking to the bed, then leaning down to peer at you._

_“___?” He murmurs gently. “Are you alright?”_

_A smile creeps onto your lips. He always gets worried so easily. “I’m fine, thank you.”_

_He exhales quietly, apparently from relief, before you hear him take his jacket off and throw it onto the dresser near the bed. There’s the sound of him taking his shoes off, and then he peels the covers back, sliding in next to you._

_He does it so often, as does Tobias, that it doesn’t seem strange to you at all. You’re best friends, and he’s here to help. That’s all this is._

_He gets himself settled next to you, propping his head up on his hand, elbow on the pillow. Eyes now adjusted to the dark, you watch him reach down with his free hand, lightly touching your cheek, then the back of your neck. “How come you’re already in bed? Are you feeling unwell?”_

_You shake your head, letting your eyes drift closed. “No, I just wanted to try to get to sleep before you or Tobias got here, so then you wouldn’t have to stay.”_

_You can almost feel his disapproving look. His fingers brush your hair way from your face, behind your ear. “You know we don’t mind, ___. It’s no trouble.”_

_You just sigh a little, responding, “I know that, but it just feels hypocritical. I sit here going on about being able to take care of myself and not being a baby, and yet I can’t sleep properly without someone being with me.”_

_He grunts, sounding a bit miffed. “You make that sound like you’re having nightmares of a rabid bunny chasing you through a park of inverted rainbows. You’re not just having standard nightmares or suffering with an overactive imagination. You’ve suffered traumatic emotional experiences and been hurt both emotionally and mentally, for prolonged periods of time. That doesn’t just go away. It’s known and acknowledged that people who suffer such pain can sometimes never recover and have to have people to support them through it. It’s just how people cope with that sort of weight on their minds.”_

_You suppose he’s right._

_You say nothing, but you nod. He shifts to be lying down, something you can make out since you feel his arm slide under the pillow where your head is, then feel the warmth from him when he takes your hand in his free one._

_You’re struck once more with the same thoughts that you’ve had every night since staying in Stein._

_I wish this was Byron. I want him here. I miss him._

_You frown slightly, but nonetheless you move forward to drop your head onto the pillow in front of his shoulder. Remembering the letter, you decide that you may as well tell him about it. “We’ll be working with the Royal Wysterian Guard and Byron’s guard at the cultural meeting. They’re going to help to make it as safe as possible by working with us.”_

_You feel him stiffen. His hand tightens around yours. “How do you know?”_

_You give his hand a gentle squeeze, sensing his mild unease. “Byron sent me a message through an owl. He couldn’t get a messenger through so he did that instead.”_

_He’s completely silent for a few long seconds. You open your eyes and look up at him, seeing him staring down at you with an unreadable expression. “Xander?”_

_His thumb rubs over your knuckles, but the tightness of his grip conveys his discomfort. “I don’t trust him.”_

_This again. You would think that it wasn’t you who was forced to kill your friend in front of Byron’s father, but him. Your response is based not around your own emotional feelings about him, but your objective knowledge and judgement of his character that you developed in your first two meetings with him._

_“Xander, I’ve been monitoring him completely since I first spoke to him and saw him. I know we don’t know a lot about them, but I know he’s got genuine intentions. I can read people so easily and accurately, almost ridiculously so, because of Stefan. I know what he’s saying is true. I’ve never been wrong about suspecting someone of lying or telling the truth, and I believe that he’s being completely honest. He loves his country and his people. He doesn’t want to be like his father.”_

_He remains quiet. Finally, he replies, murmuring ever so quietly, almost in a whisper, “I know that. I just don’t want to see you hurt by him.”_

_You feel a swell of guilt surface in your chest. If something does go wrong, you will deal with it yourself, but of course Xander and Tobias will make it impossible to be completely alone with it. They’ll not allow you to burden yourself solely, and so you’ll be hurting them too._

_“No one is safe from everyone, or anyone. Betrayal can happen at any time, from any person. If something happens, let me handle it. Stop trying to carry burdens that aren’t yours, and just focus on yourself. You’re always worrying about me, and you shouldn’t.”_

_He almost looks like he’s in pain. He releases your hand to cup your cheek. “But I want to, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to not worry.”_

_Your gaze lowers to the covers. You know he’s right, and that he can’t seem to stop himself from worrying about you. He has a lot of reasons for caring about you so extensively, some which you think aren’t valid, but that doesn’t matter._

_You don’t respond. There’s nothing to say._

_Instead, you just burrow into his chest, trying to find the comfort you used to feel in his arms, the security and safety that would get you to sleep so soundly. He curls his arm around your waist, kissing your forehead with a shaky sigh._

_Being human has never been so painful._

**†** **♛** **†**

You shake your head.

It’s snowing again, in the fringes of Vinessia that near the border it shares with Protea. Vinessia sits atop Stein and Protea, but a small portion of its land also curls around the side of Protea, where it also shares a tiny border with Laurelia. To the west of Laurelia is Wysteria, with Stein mostly north of said country, although its size means that it also takes up some western borders with Wysteria.

The ocean on the west side of the region touches Vinessia, Stein and Wysteria, and then under the latter is Fairmark and another nation. There are many more in the region, but Stein, Wysteria, Laurelia, Protea and Vinessia are the largest in terms of land and influence, as well as democratic power.

You’re in your normal uniform as usual, although you fixed your hair to be neater than usual. Your cloak shields you from the snow, as do the cloaks of your knights, but it shouldn’t take too long to arrive now. It’s about five o’clock, since the meeting starts at six and it takes a while to get over to Protea. You left quite early, but you’ve made the largest part of the journey now.

Soon, you reach the border of Protea. You’re stopped by the border patrols, who check your identities and reasons for coming to the country, before they fetch the escort already prepared to take you to the meeting.

Not too long later, you’re coming up on a large mansion, made of marble and light stonework. In front of the house is a large, frozen lake, which you can immediately see is not very old from the colour and doesn’t appear to be particularly thick. The lake is bathed in the dusk glow, the sun kissing the silhouettes of the mountains in the distance. It’s not snowing here, although the wind is bitterly cold and harsh, and there’s a thick layer of fresh snow on the ground.

You take maybe fifteen minutes to take your horses to the nearby stables, where all of the horses and carriages of the visitors attending will be held until everyone leaves.

After this, you are taken to the mansion, where you, your knights and nobility are escorted inside.

There, a nobleman is stood, somewhat chubby and, you suspect, drunk. He raises his hands in a grandiose manner upon seeing you, cheering, “Ah, here you are! Finally, the representatives of Vinessia! I was wondering if you would make it or not.”

You internally grumble over why he’s speaking so loudly. There is loud chatter coming from another room in the house, but the main entrance where you’re currently stood is empty, apart from several silent stewards and Protean guards. Still, you keep your tone respectful and polite, answering, “Of course. We wouldn’t want to miss such an occasion.”

He grins, although you can see that it’s fake and that there’s a considerable amount of malice in his eyes. “Good, good. Well, the Wysterians have already arrived, although the Laurelians are probably lost somewhere and the Steiners have yet to appear. If you will, we are all congregating in the ballroom for now. Once everyone is here, I will show you all to our marvellous invention and our main entertainment.”

Without waiting for your reply, he walks off to a large set of doors behind him, where two stewards open them and bow respectfully.

Inside, the ballroom is decorated lavishly in crimson and gold, with hints of black dotted around as well. The nobilities of Wysteria and Protea are there, very obviously split in half and not mingling at all, the women all in dresses and the men in suits.

You force back a sigh. If this goes awry, those dresses could be the death of a few of these nobles. This is why you prefer to wear trousers most of the time.

You feel the stares of the nobles turn to you, the weight and pressure of their gazes almost crushing. Ignoring them as much as humanly possible, you turn to Tobias and Xander, firing them a nod. You look to your knights, instructing them quietly, “Spread out. Stand by the pillars and keep watch on what’s going on. Don’t speak to anyone unless you really need to and be careful.”

There is a low hum of, “Yes, General ___.” They all do as they are told, positioning themselves evenly and quietly, moving to their places without drawing excessive attention to their movements. You take the opportunity to glance over at the King and Queen of Wysteria, who are stood on the left side of the ballroom.

The queen has already been looking over at you, and now she smiles brightly, curtseying politely to the Wysterian noble she has been talking to. She then makes her way over to you, greeting you kindly, “General ___, it’s good to see you again. We’re glad you’re here today, and to hear that Vinessia has been recovering well from the revolution.”

You nod, allowing yourself a small smile. You’ve kicked back into emotionless leader mode, but you don’t feel like you need to be as heartless with the Wysterian royals. Their nobility, definitely, but the royals actually aren’t half bad.

_Ironic._

“Thank you. We’re also glad to see you all again, and to have the opportunity to speak to you once more. We greatly appreciate the help you offered us in regards to today.” Your response is cool but nice enough, and she beams at you, head bobbing up and down.

“Thank you very much, and you are very welcome. We’re glad to be able to help and be of assistance to a nation we’re eager to strength our ties with.” She glances back at the Captain of the Wysterian Royal Guard, who is watching your exchange closely.

Gaze returning to you, she lowers her voice, despite the fact that no nobles are close enough to hear her next words anyway. “Alyn would like to speak to you if possible, regarding the issue discussed between yourself and King Byron, and King Byron and ourselves.”

You nod. This is what you’re determined to get sorted quickly. “Of course. I’ll speak to him now.”

She nods back, then motions for you to follow her back to where the captain is waiting. You trail behind her calmly, face inexpressive, not sparing any of the nobles a look. You don’t care enough to. “Alyn,” She starts when she stops next to him, smiling once again. “You know General ___, of course. She has agreed to discuss with us the topic we mentioned before arriving.”

_God, she never stops being cheery, does she?_

He nods, his own expression unreadable, before giving you a respectful nod. You give it back, and then he speaks lowly. “Perhaps we should move to a less crowded spot to talk about this.”

The queen eyes a spot to the side of the ballroom, which is empty and should be safe. “Shall we?”

You nod again, starting to make your way over there mutely. Upon reaching the area, you wait until Alyn and the queen have come over, the king joining the group as well, along with their advisor, Giles Christophe. “So, you all share the same concerns that I do about this… invention.”

The queen looks mildly uncomfortable, making sure no one is close enough to hear while she responds. “Yes. When we requested further information about how the ice has been stabilised, we were refused. There’s that, and Alyn himself is dissatisfied with the condition of the ice.”

Your eyes cut to the aforementioned captain. You wonder how much experience with ice he’s had. He scowls slightly, murmuring, “I’ve had to ride across strips of ice before, and cross it on numerous occasions. This ice looks a bit too much like ice that tends to break for my liking.” He doesn’t move his gaze from yours. “Am I correct?”

You keep your tone neutral, replying bluntly. “I will be completely honest. I’ve had periods of weeks on end travelling across ice and snow, due to the terrain in Vinessia, and I’ve been around it for more than long enough to be able to know when ice is safe or not. That’s not to say that this ice will break for certain; it could always stay intact throughout the whole night by pure luck, or my judgement being off. However,”

You glance around you swiftly, finding no one in the vicinity of you all. Still, you lower your voice and step up to be bit closer to the Wysterians, tone grave. “I know roughly how old ice typically is by its colour, and how strong it is by its thickness. The bluer or clearer it is, the stronger it is, and it gets safer the thicker it is. However, the size of the body of water that’s frozen will increase or decrease the safety; the lake is quite big, and if I’m right, is connected to a river a bit further away from the house. That automatically makes it more dangerous.”

You exhale, frowning a bit yourself with annoyance. “And I cannot make an accurate estimate on the thickness, because it could change from area to area. I’d be able to take a general shot-in-the-dark guess if I could measure the ice somewhere, but until I’m able to do that, I cannot.”

The king pales slightly, swallowing. The queen clasps her hands together, and you can see her fighting to keep her expression smooth. “So, even just from its colour, it’s quite likely to break?”

You glance out of one of the tall windows, eyes narrowing. The ice looks, for the most part, white. Some of it is grey on the edges farther away from the house, which isn’t good in itself. The white parts should be safe to hold a few people very briefly, if it’s thick enough, but you highly doubt it will. You also highly doubt that it’s anywhere near as thick as it needs to be to ensure everyone’s safety.

“You must understand that I am not guaranteeing it breaking. But, I am extremely dubious about it, and from past experience, can say that it’s considerably likely to break.” She lets out a slightly shaky breath, pressing her lips together. Alyn makes a face, staring out at the ice, and you look to him briefly. “Assuming that we don’t witness a miracle today, you were right, Captain.”

He says nothing.

Your attention is drawn away from him when you hear the doors open behind you, and you turn around quickly.

Your chest tightens, heart aching. A swell of emotion chokes you for a few moments.

_Byron._

He and his knights, along with the nobility of Stein, enter the room silently, but the low murmur of noise in the room disappears almost instantly. The overwhelming grace, elegance and majesty of Byron’s presence is enough to halt every conversation in the room, but they quickly start up again when the knights disperse, the nobility step further in, and Byron makes his way toward you.

His eyes convey a message.

You understand.

“King Byron.” You greet when he comes in hearing range, giving another respectful nod and exchanging the standard pleasantries that the Queen of Wysteria apparently forgot. He gives the nod back.

“General ___.” He proceeds to greet the Wysterian royals, then turns back to you when he’s done, speaking quietly. You can see Nico and Albert hanging around behind him, hovering a few foot away, watching everyone in the room warily. “What is your assessment of the ice?”

You quickly relay what you said to the King and Queen, making it clear that you know nothing for certain. He listens patiently, watching you with no emotion, but he nods periodically to show his attention. When you finish, he steps up to the window, taking a moment to gaze out at the ice himself. You talk idly with the royals for a few minutes while he does, discussing the boost to the industries which have started trades between Wysteria and Vinessia with Giles.

He finally turns around, coming back to the three of you. He waits for you to finish your discussion, at which point he speaks himself, voice low and very serious. “I agree with your judgement strongly, General ___. My knowledge of ice is not as vast as yours, but I highly doubt its safety myself.”

“Your Majesty,” Albert enters the conversation quietly, waiting to continue. Byron nods, and he steps forward, speaking dispassionately. “I do not think it would be wise to risk standing upon the ice. I have done some research myself into signs of ice being unsafe, and everything that General ___ said is accurate to that information, indicating that it will indeed break. It is extremely hazardous to risk going out onto it.”

You share a look with Byron, silently communicating what you both know.

You can’t refuse going out on the ice. It’s just not something you have the option to do if you don’t want to ruin Vinessia politically, and the same goes for Byron with Stein.

“I will go onto the ice.” Byron murmurs, keeping his eye on you while he speaks. “But, I will try to limit the amount of time I am on it for, and will be watchful of the ice’s conditions. As we have already agreed, should it seem to be destabilising in any way, we will alert one another and move off swiftly.”

You nod. “I will do the same. My knights are already aware of this and ready to act should something go wrong, for both our nobility and that of your nations.”

The queen chips in now, agreeing, “We will do the same. Our knights are ready and waiting as well, and we will assist the nobilities of your countries as much as possible in the event of it breaking.”

_Good. Now, we just have to wait and see how this pans out._

Another half an hour or so is spent mingling with the other leaders and occasionally the nobilities of the nations, and there is a period of dancing as well, although you don’t take part in it. Instead, you remain at the side of the room, speaking with the Wysterian royal party, particularly their advisor, Giles, and Alyn.

You are in discussion about the relative similarities and differences between Wysteria and Vinessia when the host noble steps into the centre of the room, announcing,

“Attention, attention!” The room goes quiet, although some of the nobility continue to whisper among themselves. You watch him warily. “If everyone will follow me outside, it is time for the main event, on ice! Bring your coats, as the air has a fine chill tonight! Come, come, everyone!”

You feel Byron looking at you across the room. Your eyes meet, and you give him a small nod before doing the same with the Wysterian and Laurelian royalty. Seeing their knowing looks, you fall into step with the nobility that have started to follow the host out of the room, and Byron comes to walk next to you while you both go outside.

You are escorted out and around to the back of the house, the sun having now fallen below the mountains, the sky quickly fading into indigo. It is definitely very cold, from the icy wind that whips at your face and neck, but you’re not bothered at all. You’re covered from the neck down, after all, and are quite used to low temperatures.

Behind the house, at the edge of the ground where the ice starts, is a somewhat steep drop between the floor and the water level. You can see a set of stairs that have been seeming bolted – bolted? – into place using the ground, and can see that the ice at the edges is turning grey.

Your stomach lurches. On the ice is what looks like a group of entertainers, wearing extravagant clothing and surrounded by typical circus props. The ice under them seems to be holding, but you wonder for how long. They don’t look very well fed, which is concerning to you anyway, but some of the nobles are another matter.

Around the edges of the ice as well, on the ground, is a railing that’s been hammered down. You presume it’s there to let people sightsee while they’re here, but from the way it’s been put in, it’s just going to destabilise the ground that’s supposed to be supporting the ice, as well as the large number of people now stood on the ground itself.

_This isn’t remotely safe. They’ve spent far too much time way too close to the ice._

Byron has been watching your reaction to the scene before you, and his own eye narrows when he pointedly stares at the slightly slushy ice at the edge. “I think you were more than right, General ___.” He murmurs lowly.

You exhale slowly, resisting the urge to scowl. “Unfortunately, I think I was. It’s almost certainly going to break.” Your voice is very, very quiet, barely audible over the sound of the snow crunching under your feet softly. He hears it, though, apparently; he lets out a sound of acknowledgement, expression showing nothing but eyes betraying a good amount of displeasure.

“Come, come, everyone!” The host calls, gesturing toward the edge of the lake. “So, this ice has been stabilised by securing metal rods underneath it at the edges, then bolting this into the solid ground we are standing on now. We’ve had people walking on and off it all day, and it’s not once make a peep! It’s completely safe!”

He looks to one of the Steiner nobles near him, a young man with a rather unimpressed expression. “Why not try it out? Will you be the brave first person to stand upon the newly secured frozen lake?”

The noble jerks back when the host reaches out to take his arm, scoffing, “No, thank you. I think I’d like to stand on solid ground.”

The host’s eyes burn with anger for a brief second, but then he simply laughs the insult off, waving dismissively. “Such suspicion. Really now, you young people are so untrusting.” He moves his gaze to you and Byron, and his face brightens up immediately. “Your Majesty, General ___. Would one of you wish to try out our marvellous invention?”

You are almost unable to resist the urge to look right at Byron. You don’t want to go on the ice, of course, since you’re almost certain it’s going to break as soon as a few people stand on it. However, you can’t actually say no because of the political repercussions.

_Damn these nobles. I hate this job._

“I will, on the assumption that you are certain it is safe.” Byron’s deep voice murmurs out, almost lost to the wind yet unable to be ignored. If you weren’t already experiencing some shivers from the wind on your neck, his voice alone could make you tremble. The host nods rigorously, bowing shallowly.

“Of course! My engineers and scientists have studied this matter extensively and assured me that it is completely safe to stand on.” He grins, stepping back from the railing, where there’s a gap in it to allow people to step down.

You’re not letting Byron go down alone. If something happens, he needs someone to get him out quickly. You doubt he’s ever needed to react to something like ice breaking under him before.

“I will go as well, then.” You respond, voice dispassionate. He nods again, even more enthusiastically.

Byron glances down at you, and you meet his gaze for a few heartbeats. You can see the message his eyes send; be careful. You send the same back to him.

He starts to make his way toward the edge, and you feel a strong sense of dread and a familiar panic in your mind that’s saved your life quite a few times. It’s the sense you have of danger, one that’s always been there, and one that usually lets you know when something or someone dangerous is coming.

_Damn. I’m going in the water, then._

You can hear the muttering of nobles behind you, including that of your own, from the likes of Finn and Liv, who you can hear worrying about you. You stifle a smile at their concern.

Byron is at the edge of the ice now. He pauses for a moment, scrutinising it, seeming to plan his approach. You move up to be next to him, whispering just lowly enough that no one but him can hear you, “Slowly, carefully. Listen for its warnings.”

He doesn’t react, but you know he’s heard you.

He steps out, putting his foot on the nearest, whitest bit of ice that he can reach.

You hold your breath, watching and listening, tracking any and all changes in the ice. Your heart squeezes uncomfortably in your chest, panic rising up and gripping you tightly. You’re suddenly struck by the intense, almost unbearable fear that he’ll be hurt, or even killed. You can barely keep your expression blank.

Nothing happens.

He gradually shifts to have both feet on the ice before he steps further into it. It doesn’t move at all, and for a second you doubt your judgement, thinking that perhaps it’s stronger than you thought. But then, you reanalyse the lake again, studying it. You can’t be wrong. It’s not possible. This isn’t safe.

But does it stop you from stepping out onto the ice? Of course not.

_Politics before person, right?_

You use the strongest part you can see, testing its strength under you. The slushy texture of the top layer immediately sets alarm bells ringing in your head, and you press your lips together, being very cautious as you step away from safety and put your other foot onto the ice. It doesn’t make any sound or movements, so you make your way toward Byron carefully, being mindful of where you walk.

You stop maybe two feet in front of him, and he gives you a tiny, tiny smile as well as a nod. You give it back, then glance over your shoulder at the shore.

You can see Tobias, Xander, Albert and Nico stood there, looking simultaneously, painfully worried for their respective leaders. The host claps, patting Tobias on the shoulder. He receives a lethal glare in response that he doesn’t react to. “Now, now, I know you're all very protective of King Byron and General ___, but they’re very much safe. Join them, if that would ease your nerves! The ice can more than hold the weight!”

They all look to the two of you, and immediately, your eyes lock with Byron’s single hue. You speak quietly, voice almost lost in the breeze. “I would prefer for there to be at least a few knights here, to help the nobles, in case it does break.”

His head moves up and down. You can see satisfaction and approval on his face when he replies. “Indeed. I would rather that, as opposed to there being a delay between a break and them arriving to help.” Seeing your inclination of your head, he turns back to Albert and Nico. “Come.”

You speak again after him, tone authoritative but still quiet. “And you, Xander, Tobias.”

You and Byron watch closely as they start the process of stepping onto the ice, one by one, following the paths that you both took. You strain your senses to listen for any noises, or see any indications of a break, in the ice, but you find nothing. Tobias and Xander reach you first, and they quickly stand close to you, relief painfully clear on their faces. Albert and Nico follow, coming to hover behind Byron.

“Splendid!” The host all but cries, much to the annoyance and displeasure of several unlucky nobles standing nearby. “As you can all see, it’s more than safe enough. Come, let us all get on, and then the entertainment can begin.”

And so starts the long, dreadfully agonising ten minutes that are spent with the nobility coming to stand upon the ice. You can see distrust and worry on many of their faces, but it’s only when you spot a woman step on with a young child, maybe only five, that you start to really panic on the inside. Several more nobles appear with children, and in total you count there to be four.

If they go into the water, they could very, very easily become hypothermic, very, very quickly. This isn’t good. The oldest one is only eight at the very most.

You stay with Byron while this happens, and he makes no move to separate from you. If this is going to go awry, you’d much rather help him first as opposed to the other nobles, since it would be a punch in the face to diplomatic relations if you went to help someone of “lower” status rather than the king.

_Speaking of which, where’s the King of Protea?_

You look around, swiftly spotting him sat on a chair on the shore, with the Prime Minister of Protea stood at his side. The former is sipping what looks like wine, a fire burning to his right in a portable campfire. Your stomach lurches, memories surfacing in an instant. You remember how he was there when you were forced to kill Rose, and all the sick things you heard about him from Stefan over the years.

You can’t help but frown, swallowing back the sickness, instead focusing on the campfire.

_Are you kidding? He’s not even coming on the ice, and he using fire next to it? The bastard!_

“King Byron,” You murmur, not taking your eyes away from the fire. He glances down at you again, then follows your gaze. You see him stiffen ever so slightly in your peripheral vision, and you let out a breath. “I don’t like this at all. This feels off.”

He nods, the movement barely noticeable.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, kings and queens and generals, it is time for the entertainment to begin!” Your attention is pulled away by the host, who gestures for everyone to gather around the performers.

You and Byron go over cautiously, staying close to each other, while your bodyguards form a protective barrier around your backs and sides. The nobles move aside to make way for you both, allowing you to walk to the front and get a clear view of the entertainment. “And now, let it begin!”

At his words, the performers start to move, descending into a flurry of swift, precise gymnastic movements and routines. One does backflips and cartwheels across the ice, others making small human sculptures together. You find yourself holding your breath again, waiting for the ice to crack somewhere, waiting for everything to go to hell.

A few minutes pass uneventfully, though, and you gradually begin to believe that it must be thicker than you thought. The nobles eventually start to disperse and chat amongst themselves, but you and Byron stay together without verbally choosing to do so. You simply remain in your spots, looking around and watching everything carefully.

After a few minutes of not speaking, you see Byron’s eyes settle on the children at one point. You know that there are two Laurelian ones, one Steiner child and one Protean child. He gazes at them silently, watching as the Laurelians approach the Steiner, talking animatedly for a few seconds. The Steiner looks timid and unsure at first, but then he starts to respond, gradually seeming to become more comfortable. Within minutes, they’re running around on the ice, being careful not to slip, and laughing together.

They all approach the Protean child at one point, and she goes to join them, but is swiftly pulled back by her parents. They glare at the other children, who quickly move away and continue to play.

Byron’s lips are pursed tightly, eye narrowed. You speak lowly, eyes remaining on the children. “Is something on your mind?”

You see him look at you in your peripheral vision, but you don’t turn to him. He watches you for a long few heartbeats, while your pulse starts to quicken and you feel your skin prickling at the intensity of his stare, focused solely on you. Finally, he responds, looking back to the children.

“No,” His eye moves to the sky for a moment, before returning to the children. “I was just considering what it must be like to have a child.”

That surprises you enough to make your eyes snap to his face, expression betraying just a hint of shock. You never expected him to even have such thoughts, let alone actually consider them in any sort of detail. You quickly wipe your expression again, though, before studying the ice once more. “I’ve only had periodic exposure to children, and that was usually in instances of crisis or danger, so I don’t really know myself.”

Thinking back to the way you’ve seen the citizens in Vinessia act with their children, to the way you’ve seen parents give their lives for their young, your heart aches for a brief second. You feel briefly sick, and extremely uncomfortable, before you manage to shake the thoughts away. “From what I’ve seen, it’s rather stressful and one of the hardest jobs in this life, but it’s one of the most gratifying in the end.”

You can feel him watching you again. You try not to react. “Have you ever considered having children, then, General ___?”

It’s even more difficult this time to keep your reaction to a minimum. You know your answer without even having to think about it. You’ve never deviated from this decision. “No. I’ve never been interested in the idea. Considering that, after getting away from you know who, all my time has been occupied with freeing and taking care of Vinessia, I want nothing more than to protect my home. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for a single, young life, all the time, even if I had a partner to do it with. The thought of it… no.”

A hint of a smile tugs at your lips. You make sure you speak so quietly as to not be heard by anyone other than him. You may as well be honest, since he said he wants to know more about you. “I’ve never been interested in getting married, either. I can see myself having a partner, but I see little value in marriage.”

He processes this for a few moments, still studying you closely. You eventually look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”

His face is blank and unreadable for the most part, but you can see what almost looks like curiosity sparkling in his eye. A tiny, tiny little smile curls his lips. “You’re forever full of surprises, General ___.”

If it weren’t so cold, you’d blush at the words. Your eyes skitter away, your smile threatening to widen again. You manage to stifle it for the most part, musing darkly. “Thank you, I suppose. I guess it’s not every day that a woman says she’s not interested in marriage or having children.”

Much to your surprise again, a low, husky laugh rumbles it of him. It’s short and only audible to you, but you hear it. “I’ll admit, it’s not the most common of responses.” That small swell of guilt and shame that you always get at that thought resurfaces in you, and you press your lips together. “However, that does not mean it’s wrong.”

Your head whips around to him. Your heart pounds faster in your chest again, insides tightening in anticipation. He continues, face set gently, eye for once openly kind even though he’s in plain sight of the nobilities and royals.

“Marriage is a social expectation; it doesn’t occur naturally. Finding a mate happens in nature, yes, but not marriage in a literal sense. As for the desire to have children, that is a natural instinct, but that doesn’t always apply. Some people, both males and females, simply want their own lives. You already have something to protect. It’s not wrong for you to want that to be the object of your focus, nor is it wrong for you to want that, even if you have a partner at the time.”

Your throat thickens, emotions going off the rails at his sudden shift of mood. You move your gaze to the children again, making sure he can’t see your eyes as they moisten just slightly. You blink it away immediately, managing a small nod. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

You both stand there for a long time, basking in the beauty of the nature around you, still in the same places as before.

But somehow, you feel so much closer to him already.


	8. Part VIII | Thin Ice. Sacrifice. Melted Hearts.

**†** **♛** **†**

An hour later, the ice is still holding.

You’re quite impressed, albeit still increasingly suspicious. You still don’t trust it.

Over the course of the meeting, you’ve made your rounds and listened to the sad attempts of nobles to undermine you and catch you off-guard, succeeding in either embarrassing them or downright proving them to be wrong. You’ve also sorted out some more planned trade deals with Laurelia and Wysteria, along with the nations of Lindera and Carallia, who have sent several representatives over. Additionally, you've made some military agreements and arrangements with Stein.

It’s at this point that a girl steps onto the ice, dressed in a leotard that reminds you of those used for ballet. On her feet are ice skates, and you see as soon as she starts to move that she’s a skater. She quickly descends into a skating routine to the music being played from the musicians on the shore, spinning and jumping in time with it.

Your muscles tense. That blade could easily pierce the ice somewhere, and the extra person probably isn’t going to help it to remain stable.

Your eyes roll around the meeting. The nobles are watching the girl with fascination, some approval and some disinterest. You see one of the children jumping up and down in excitement. A pair of nobles are dancing, spinning around together, apparently somewhat tipsy.

You hear the first creak to your left. There’s a crack under the whole lake, a booming, whipping sound like a cord snapping.

Adrenaline floods you, legs moving immediately.

You head straight for the King and Queen of Wysteria, since they’re the closest to you. You ignore the looks you get from bureaucrats while you do, making a beeline for the royals. Giles, stood nearby them, quickly notices you and seems to sense your alarm. He wastes no time in approaching you, stepping cautiously so as to not fall.

Upon reaching you, he walks with you toward the monarchs. “General ___, is something the matter? That sound just now-”

You interrupt him very quietly, very lowly, straining your senses while you do. You can still hear the creaking, and know that one part of the ice must be getting close to buckling under the weight of so many people. More of the nobility are gathering near the ice skater, and that seems to be where the weaker spots are.

You walk more rapidly, a second, booming crack humming under you. “The ice is creaking and probably cracking somewhere. Listen. You can hear it from where the ice skater is.”

You give him a moment to listen for it, and his eyes go wide in realisation. You nod, stopping before the king and queen. “Your Majesties.” You murmur. “The ice is creaking. Listen for yourselves, but it sounds like it’s finally weakening. I would advise that you leave quickly, just in case it does succumb to the weight.”

You turn around now, giving them a moment to listen for themselves. You see Byron stood on the other side of the exchange, and notice that he’s watching you closely. You give him an almost non-existent nod, making sure that there aren’t any nobles watching, before you move your hand to not be hidden by your cloak anymore.

Allowing it to peek around the material, you point to the ice for the briefest of moments.

He pauses for a few seconds, eye locked with yours. Then, remaining calm and moving purposefully, he strides across to you, not betraying any fear or panic. When he comes in range of you, he mutters almost annoyedly, sounding mildly irritated. “The host is making the musicians play louder to drown the sound out. Evidently, he’s aware that it’s creaking.”

You realise that he’s right, and that the musicians are playing louder. Frowning a bit, you shake your head. “You should leave the ice. It’s not safe, at least for the moment.”

He nods. “You should leave it as well. Let us go, before it breaks.”

You hesitate for a second, your body urging you to go and warn people of the oncoming danger.

_The children… their parents…_

You wince just a little. You have to go. You can’t cause a panic, should it not break. Even you know that doing so would be the worst decision you could make.

You force yourself forward, heading toward the opening in the railing. You can see the King and Queen of Wysteria stood there, watching anxiously. The queen smiles, but you can see the worry in her eyes. She never takes them away from you and Byron.

You are about twenty foot away when you hear the sound of the ice skater’s blades hissing against the frozen ground, then her making a jump. Your head snaps to the side.

She spins in mid-air, skirts twirling around her legs. Her blades point downward. You know that she’s going to land hard.

“King Byron-”

She touches the ice. In seconds, everything descends into chaos.

You see the first of her blades hit the ice with so much force that it cracks under her, a spider one that immediately spreads through the temporary ground. Her concentration breaks at the sound of the splintering underneath her, and the back part of her second blade smashes into the spot next to her first foot. You see her balance shift, body toppling to the side. Byron has turned around now, and watches with clear shock as her form collides with the ice.

It collapses under her. You hear her terrified shriek before she’s swallowed by the freezing water.

The ice surrounding her, rotting underneath and not at all thick, starts to crumble now that a weak spot has collapsed. A part under a noblewoman falls out from under her, sending her crashing into the water. All at once, the nobles in the vicinity are dragged under, more falling through now that there’s a hole nearby. As each of them try to get out, frantically screaming and putting their weight on it, more and more of it breaks away.

Within a mere three seconds, larger cracks have formed, created by the heavy, pounding footsteps of the bureaucrats running toward the shore. One shoots straight toward you and Byron.

“Move!” You shout, lurching forward, toward solid ground. The screams and desperate shouts of those in the water fill the lake, and your heart aches. Still, you sprint away, Byron now next to you and running as well, knowing full well that you can’t help with your cloak on at the very least, let alone your cloak _and_ cape.

You and Byron are maybe fifteen foot away from the shore when a nobleman crashes to the floor to Byron’s left, hitting the ice so hard that it cracks and collapses under him.

Byron’s too close to him. The crack spreads under both of you.

“Hold your breath!” You yell, grabbing hold of his arm. You know you can swim, and that you can adjust to the freezing water pretty quickly, but you don’t know if he can. You can’t let him be dragged down and drown. You won’t.

You suck in a breath, seeing Byron do the same and shut his mouth. His fingers clap around your forearm, holding onto you just as tightly as your own are around his arm.

You feel the lurching sensation of the ice buckling under you. You fall through, Byron going down with you. You just hear the screams of Xander, Tobias, Albert and Nico before you go under, all of them a little away from you.

Your eyes burn as soon as you’re submerged, and your body is almost crushed by the unbearable cold. You can barely see anything with your eyes hurting so badly and eyelids batting so much, but you can still feel Byron in your grip, and feel his fingers around your arm. You look to the side, seeing him opening and closing his eye swiftly, trying to get some sense of vision. His face betrays the pain and shock of the cold, and you know you need to get him surfaced quickly.

For a brief moment, all you can think of is drowning in the lake when you escaped. You can feel the lack of oxygen, can remember the burning sensation, recall the realisation that death had you in its grasp.

_Don’t let the shock take you._

Legs kicking hard, your hand stays latched onto him, and you yank him up, using your free arm to help you swim. He starts to do the same, and you’re thankful that he’s not completely gone into shock straight away. If you can get him above water, you’ll be alright.

_It’s those first few seconds, when people panic and lose their focus, that the water always wins._

Maybe three seconds later, your head breaks through the surface. You gasp in a breath, shaking the water off your face and trying to get your bearings. You can see that some nobles have made it to the shore, but maybe seventeen others are still in the water, two of them being the children. Byron emerges next to you, coughing and taking in a sharp breath. Knowing he might succumb to cold shock soon, you kick and start to swim forward, not letting him go.

“Byron,” You shout over the screams of the other nobles. “Don’t let yourself go into shock. It’ll kill you. The cold won’t hurt you yet, not if you get out of the water now. You’re almost there. Once you’re out of the water, you’ll be safe. Stay calm and swim.”

Glancing back at him, you almost see his brain switch over, see him suppressing the initial shock and panic of being submerged. He seems to regain his control over himself, and starts to swim with you, still holding onto your arm. His kicks getting stronger and more forceful, you reach the shore quickly, where you see several of your knights along with a few Steiner ones running into the water.

Two of yours jump in straight away, there apparently being no gradual slope of ground connected to the shore. You assume it was ripped away when the supports broke, all of the ice in the nearby area having collapsed by this point. The knights swim over to you both when you get close, and one moves to either side, helping with the last few feet.

Relief crushes you as Byron’s pushed up, onto the ground, then assisted with moving a good distance away from the railing.

_He’s safe. He’s going to be okay._

You’re pushed up and onto the ground next, and you quickly unclip your cloak and cape, the shouts of the children now almost piercing through you. Looking back, you see that one of the children is on its own, and that the other is with its parents, who seem to be succumbing to cold shock quickly.

Although several of your knights have already jumped in to help, along with a number of Wysterian and Steiner knights, the amount of nobles in the water is still too high to beat. You can see that the knights who have helped people out now aren’t going back in, probably unable to go back in without further endangering themselves and the nobility.

_Shit. I’m going to have to be quick. I’m going to go hypothermic if I stay in for too long._

You chuck your cloak and cape to one of your knights, who has been trying to pull you back and away from the edge. She gives you a bewildered look, to which you waste no time in barking out, “Go and find some towels, or something dry. Not the clothes we brought with us. These kids are going to get hypothermic and die. Quickly, understood?”

She nods, not questioning you for a second.

You nod back, turning back to the water. Another noble is pulled out by your knights, so you can’t get through the gap in the railing. Swallowing back the fear that wracks your mind and body when your eyes settle on the water, you sprint forward, putting a hand on the railing.

Giving yourself no time to back out or hesitate, and ignoring the gasps behind you, you throw yourself over the metal and into the water again.

The cold isn’t as painful this time, because you’ve already been in it once, and you quickly start to take deep breaths in and out when you break through the surface. Reminding yourself repeatedly that you need to be calm, and that panicking will only get you killed, you focus on your objective.

Your eyes swing to the child that’s trying to swim for the shore, but he doesn’t seem to be able to. You wonder if he knows how to, quickly deducing that he doesn’t at all when you observe his arms flailing about wildly.

_Fucking nobles, teaching their children social standards before things like how to swim._

You swim over quickly, keeping your breathing slow and deep even as you use the front crawl to reach the child. It’s crying and wailing in confusion and fear, and you quickly reach out to it, seeing that it’s the Steiner boy. “Hey, it’s okay! I’m here to help you! Come here, I’ll take you back to your mother and father, okay?”

Even with his distress, the mention of his mother and father seems to get through. He nods, crying even more, but he grabs at you and allows you to pull you close to him. Trying to ignore the numbing of your limbs from the sub-zero water around you, you turn him around to be on your back, so your arms will be free. “Hold onto my neck really tight, okay? Don’t let go! My name’s ___; if you’re going to fall off, shout my name!”

When he’s clutching your throat almost tight enough to suffocate you, you start to swim toward the other couple, the Laurelians. They are a bit closer to shore now, but the knights from Vinessia seem exhausted and suffering badly from going into the water and helping, and the knights from Wysteria are all busy getting nobles onto solid ground or are seemingly trying to stop themselves from passing out with the cold. The Steiners have congregated around Byron, it seems, and have completely gone on the defensive, shouting and yelling at the Protean King and Prime Minister.

You hope they chew their heads off for this.

“Please!” The Laurelian man cries out, holding his son up while the woman does the same. “Take our son! Get him back to shore! We’ll get ourselves back, just please get him to safety!”

The woman’s eyes beg you to comply, the agony in them as clear as day. “I can’t swim quickly in this dress. Please, General ___, get him back to shore. Save him!”

You don’t even consider saying no.

You nod, swimming over. They pass the boy over quickly, giving him to you to hold in your strong arm. You settle him against your side so that his head is completely clear of the water, watching them for a brief moment. The man nods back, gratitude and relief dominating his expression. The woman manages a tiny, broken smile, trying to swim while she does.

You waste no more time, making your way straight to the gap in the railing. Checking to see if the Steiner boy is there every few seconds, and that he’s not taking in any water, you manage to swim back close enough for a Wysterian knight to jump in, then meet you maybe five foot from the shore.

“Here,” You manage to say, now feeling your breaths getting harder and heavier with the increasingly violent effects of the temperature of the water. “Take them back. I’ll help the Laurelians. Make sure they get out of the wet clothes quickly.”

He nods, apparently taking the orders even though they’re coming from a foreign general. He gets the children into his grip safely, then makes the short journey back to solid ground before being lifted out.

As soon as he reaches the shore, you turn around and go back for the other two. Your thoughts are slowing now, body succumbing to the cold. You can barely process what’s going on, your stubborn instincts of protection for others for overriding your self-protection ones and driving you back to the two Laurelians.

They’re maybe twenty foot away from the shore, thankfully, so you wedge yourself in between them and grab them by their arms, kicking forward forcefully and dragging them though the water with you. The woman seems to be close to losing consciousness, as would be expected since vital parts of her body that lose heat quickly aren’t well covered, and you quicken your pace in order to get her to safety.

This time, it’s Tobias and Xander who emerge from the thick crowd of hysterical bureaucrats and furious knights, and they both help the two Laurelians to get out of the water. Your arms shake violently as you plant your hands on the side, and a pained shout escapes you when you push up, feeling your muscles aching and seizing up.

Xander makes quick work of getting both of the Laurelians out of the way so that Tobias can lean down, then haul you up and onto the ground, absolutely saturated and shivering so much that your vision is shaking.

You think that everyone’s out of the water. That is, until you hear a panicked screech and a splash, followed by an enraged, bellowing roar.

Your head whips around, brain waking up a little at the desperate sound of someone’s shout being muffled and cut off by the water. Your eyes hone in on the area it came from, and you quickly spot the one thing you wish you hadn’t seen.

The host of the event, balanced precariously on his side on a floating piece of ice. You can just see the silhouette of a Steiner noble in the water, and can see how the host’s leg is stretched out in his direction.

_He must have kicked him in. What a miserable waste of space._

“Lord Barnes!”

“He kicked him!”

“How long has he been in there?”

“Both of them are going to die! It’s too cold to stay in for much longer!”

For a long, long moment, everything in your head goes quiet.

Your mind tells you to leave them.

Your heart tells you to save them.

Your head moves up. You feel a pair of fierce eyes staring at you, almost glaring into you. Raising your hues, your gaze meets that of the Prime Minister of Protea. The king is watching you, too, expression completely blank and emotionless. However, you can see a tiny, tiny bit of emotion in his eyes, something dark and dangerous and strong enough to frighten you just a little.

The Prime Minister stares at you for a short eternity, orbs smouldering. You can see him almost daring you, almost taunting you, to save them. A smirk crosses his lips across the snow, and a flash of Stefan’s face overlays itself on top of the king.

_Saving them will hurt those bastards more than it will hurt me._

You almost start to cry at the thought of going back in.

_I’ve only got maybe five minutes before I become likely to pass out._

Your lips press together, expression conveying a clear message.

_You disgraceful humans._

Your decision is made. You’ll risk it for them, for the sake of stopping them from having a card to play against your people. You’ll prove that you’re a better person than they are, that you’re more humane than they will ever be, even if you die trying.

Your body moves automatically, planning out what you’re going to do as you go. Your arms shove back, launching your torso up so that you can stand on the edge of the ground. Before Tobias and Xander can stop you, you run the short distance to the very edge, then push off and position your arms for a dive.

_If my face hits first, I can survive. My body will help me._

Before your arms touch the water, you pull them back.

The icy water envelops your face and head, body following immediately.

You feel the change in your body, feel it shift with the effect that Stefan taught you about a couple of years back. Submerging your face first in relatively cold water helps one to survive dramatically in such conditions, since it provokes a reaction in the body that aids survival. This will, hopefully, get you through the next few minutes, or however long you live until nature decides it’s time to go.

Your muscles burst with energy, and you practically shoot through the water toward Lord Barnes. Making your strokes as powerful and clean as possible, you swim up to him, seeing him slowly making his way back to shore, doing a failed sort of breaststroke.

At your arrival, the host’s expression shows his shock, and your eyes harden. You grab onto the other noble by his suit lapel to keep him afloat, then drag him toward the shore before shouting at the host, “I shouldn’t be risking my life for someone like you, but I am. Come with me now, and I’ll save you. Make your choice right now.”

He goes stone-still, genuine fear showing in his body.

But he relents after a second, albeit looking angry at the same time, as he slides into the water, creating a large splash. You swim over to grab his suit like you did with the other man, yanking him very roughly forward, snapping, “Kick your legs and arms to swim. I am not doing it for you. Do it like I did coming over here.”

He seems to attempt a response, but he only succeeds in getting water in his mouth and coughing it out. Apparently giving up on being snarky for the moment, he does as you say, managing a very amateurish but somewhat satisfactory front crawl. You look to the other noble, catching up to him now, and take hold of his suit again. “You too! Arms and legs, front crawl, right now! Calm yourself down and you’ll live!”

Crying and terrified, but evidently wanting to survive, he forces himself to kick and move through the intense fear. Your vision is blurring now, body dangerously close to shutting down from the cold, but you’re nearly there. You see one Protean knight, one Steiner and one Wysterian jump back into the water, swiftly swimming over to meet you all halfway.

You almost sob with relief when they reach you all at the twenty-foot mark, and the Steiner immediately takes Lord Barnes from you, practically carrying him through the water to the shore. The Protean goes to the host, who shoves at him and tries to refuse his help.

The Wysterian knight goes to help you, but you shake your head defiantly, ordering him, “Help him. He needs it more. I can get myself out.” Seeing him open his mouth, brows furrowed in protest, you give him a glare and snap, “Don’t question me. Just do it.”

He hesitates for a moment more, but then he nods, swimming around you to assist the host and get him to the shore first. Vision very blurry now, you watch as the Wysterian goes to the host and assists him in reaching the solid ground. The Wysterian heaves himself onto the ground, starting to pull the host up, while the Protean gets up before reaching down to drag him up as well. They get him onto the shore, and while he is standing up, you place your hands on the floor to get out.

But everyone stops when the host shoves the two knights away, whirling around to glare at you with such hatred that it makes you go completely still.

“You little witch. How dare you touch me, with your filthy commoner hands!”

Before you even have time to consider reacting, he leans down in a swift, sudden motion.

His hand connects with your face. Pain blisters through your head and cheek.

You go flying into the water once more.

Even with the water muffling the sound, you immediately hear many shouts and screams of protest. You can barely stop your gasp of pain, mind lapsing into near unconsciousness, flashes and fragments of memories blurring through your mind’s eye. You can feel the pressure again, that awful drowning, that unbearable, excruciating knowledge that death is so close and that you can’t escape-

_Not now. I can’t die here._

You use the very last of your effort.

You force yourself upward, breaking through the water with a loud, choked cough.

Instantly, what feels like dozens of hands are reaching down, holding onto you, pulling you up and out of the water in a mere second. You are dragged back and away from the water, then turned onto your side, at which point you cough out the remaining water that managed to get into your mouth and throat.

Eyes squeezed shut and body very much giving itself over to exhaustion, you barely hear the voices around you, there being so many that it’s almost deafening. Hands are touching you all over your body, brushing against your cheeks, your hair, resting on your arms and shoulders, even on your sides and neck. You wonder who they are.

One of the screams, particularly loud and absolutely infuriated, cuts through your possible oncoming hypothermia and enters your brain.

“How dare you! How dare you have the gall to call us all here, to such a dangerous event, blatantly lying to us and selling us false information! You just nearly killed at least forty nobles from six nations! Good luck with the war you’ve just created, you disgraceful, disgusting pig!”

_Ah. This is going to be a big problem. I wonder if anyone will actually declare war for this._

“This was a deliberate attempt to kill off the nobility of some of the most cultured, powerful nations! If it wasn’t for that general, so many of us would be dead! Protea plots against this region, against all of our countries!”

_At least someone appreciates what I did…_

“___, open your eyes. Let’s get to the carriage, and then we can get you changed and somewhere safe. You can’t go asleep now, ___. Please, for me, just get up. You can do it.”

_Xander…_

Your eyes open gradually, vision still blurry but sort of sharpening as the seconds tick by. Knowing that you really can’t be passing out here, in front of all of these nobles, your body floods with weak but desperate panic and the drive to move.

Gasping quietly at the shivers wracking your body, you push up on your arms, feeling the hands helping you to sit up. Something is thrown over you that somewhat helps to ward off the wind against your now freezing clothes, and you nod in appreciation to whoever did it.

You feel Xander and Tobias’ familiar touches as they hold your arms, helping you stand up carefully. They watch as you get on your feet, legs shaking while you rise up, but you manage to get them to still a bit when you turn around to face everyone. You can see many nobles hovering closely, and that they’re mainly the ones you helped out of the water.

Tobias speaks now, just as the Laurelian noble with her child, now wrapped in a thick blanket, steps toward you. “Don’t. She’s not in the state to speak to anyone. You’ll have to arrange another time to talk with her.”

You can’t argue with him. Your head’s so clouded and foggy that you basically can’t think, and you’re so, so close to collapsing.

In full knowledge of this, you move out of their hands, forcing some words out as loudly as you can. You don’t look at any of the other monarchs or bureaucrats, simply calling out hoarsely, “Vinessians, we’re leaving. None of our party are in a fit state to take part in any discussions, and staying here is not safe when many of us are in this condition. Let’s go, right now.”

There’s only half a heartbeat of hesitation, and then you hear the sound of your group following you. You head straight past everyone else, making a beeline for the stables where the carriages are. When you round the corner of the mansion and the carriage comes into sight, you notice with relief that no one is there, and that the other nations’ parties can’t see you anymore.

And you’re relieved, because as soon as you see the carriage, your vision tips to the side. Your ears ring, thoughts blurring away with your sight. Heartbeat thudding away against your rib cage, you make the last few steps to the carriage, reaching out to it.

You hear the horrified screams of your name by Tobias and Xander just as your legs give out under you.

Your heart pounds in your chest, pulse thundering through your body. You catch yourself on the side of the carriage, trembling and shivering so hard that you can feel it shaking next to you from your movements.

Within seconds, Tobias and Xander are there, holding you up and opening the door, then bundling you up and inside before letting you collapse onto one of the seats. Xander stays with you inside while Tobias goes back out, then returns with what you see are some of your clothes and a towel, as well as your spare cloak. You notice that they’ve taken off their jackets and have dry shirts on, but their trousers and boots are still wet.

You take the clothes when he gives you them, and Xander watches you closely, asking, “Are you going to be able to change into them? Do you need help?”

You shake your head, dismissing the idea immediately. Knowing that, once you’re out of your wet clothes, the cold will go away, you can do this yourself. “I can do it. Could you close the curtains and make sure no one comes in?”

He nods, swiftly drawing the curtains shut on both windows, then stepping out and closing the door. As soon as it shuts, you practically rip your clothes off, stripping everything off until you’re shivering and completely bare, but thankfully ridden of the sopping wet items.

Drying yourself off with the towel swiftly, you change into the new clothes, hands pretty much moving automatically in sluggish, clumsy movements. You only put your binder on loosely, then throw your underwear on with your top and pants before sliding into the new boots Tobias also brought in. Towelling your hair until it’s only damp, you put the wet clothes inside the towel, then wrap your cloak around yourself tightly and put the hood up to protect your neck.

Finished and feeling immediately less chilled, you knock on the door, and Xander opens it slowly. You nod to him, and he seems to sigh with relief, seeing you marginally more awake and aware of what’s going on. You step out of the carriage carefully, accepting Xander’s offering hand to keep your balance.

Outside, you can see many of the nobles taking clothes inside their carriages with them, presumably getting changed now like you did. You’re glad; even though they’re out of the water, staying in wet clothes can be just as dangerous and detrimental to one’s health as being in the water itself.

Some of the bureaucrats are already changed, it seems, and you can see the Wysterian royals stood a bit away from you. When you step down, though, they come over with borderline rushed steps, and the queen starts speaking immediately. “General ___, are you alright? Are you injured?”

You shake your head, somewhat irritated by the sudden interrogation. “I’m fine, thank you. I’m not injured. Thankfully, I don’t think many people if any are, but we must get everyone somewhere warm quickly so as to ensure that no one becomes severely hypothermic.”

The king nods. “The bureaucrats from our party are just getting changed now, although they’re rather unhappy about it, so they’re not in wet clothes. From what we can see, both the Steiners and Laurelians are doing the same. When everyone’s done, we can go back to Wysteria Palace and let everyone get settled down. The Wysterian nobility with other residences, like those with duchies and other accommodations, will head straight there as opposed to the palace, so that everyone will be able to be catered for.”

You nod, happy with this. It makes sense. He goes on, continuing, “We also think it would be wise for those who didn’t end up in the water to go back to their countries tonight, so as to reduce the number of people that will be staying in the castle. Having more will only make the nobility and the citizens tenser, since it was not announced that foreign parties would be entering Wysteria today.”

You’re satisfied with that and turn slowly, still unable to do so any faster since your limbs aren’t quite thawed out yet. Your eyes meet Xander’s. “Could you go and find all of the members of our party who didn’t fall in and bring them here, please?”

He inclines his head, stepping back. Tobias moves to take his place. “Of course.”

He goes off to complete the job, gathering the “nobility” of Vinessia. A violent shiver shakes your body again, drawing a soft, almost inaudible sigh from you. The queen seems to notice the shiver and speaks quickly.

“General ___, with the way the carriages will be entering Wysteria, they will be grouped by nationality, like they usually are. However, we think it would be best if you and King Byron, since you were both submerged in the water, ride in our carriage with us. That way, we can get you into the palace as swiftly as possible. That would be more logical, considering how long you in particular spent in the water.”

You can't exactly argue. You don’t like the thought of being separated from your people, but by now, you’re pretty sure you can put at least a bit of faith in the Wysterians, Steiners and Laurelians to not attack your party. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.”

She looks elated that you’re accepting the offer, and she nods with a more real smile now, motioning for you to follow her. “You’re very welcome, General ___. This way.”

You pause for a moment, waiting while Xander approaches with those in your party who didn’t fall in. When they’re close enough, you speak, instructing them, “All of you are able to go home now, since you’re not in any danger of becoming hypothermic. Go back to Vinessia and stay alert, okay?”

There are many nods from around the group. Finn and Liv are among them, and Finn runs forward to throw his arms around you for the briefest of moments. Pulling back before you have time to punch him, he jumps away, blushing a little. “Sorry. Be careful, ___, and come back home safe. We’ll hold the fort while you’re gone, don’t worry about it. Just focus on making sure you’re strong enough to come home.”

Albeit wanting to slap him for hugging you in front of a load of foreign bureaucrats, you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed and simply sigh, nodding. “I will. Increase the patrols around the borders for me. This is no doubt going to cause problems in the near future.”

Seeing him nod back, you watch them get into their carriages, simply offering a small smile for the waves you get from them. They know you can’t wave back, and so the smile is equivalent to doing it and means just as much.

A few minutes later, the unaffected members of your party are gone, riding back home to safety with a group of your knights to escort them, namely those who are the least wet or didn’t end up going in at all, for whatever reason. They take the wet clothes that have been removed from your other nobles with them, and the knights are instructed to take said clothes to the castle to have them cleaned.

You don’t feel as tired now, although you’re still definitely to some degree hypothermic since the shivering is persisting, your heart is still beating too fast and you don’t feel steady on your feet.

Now, you follow the queen to their carriage, where you see Byron standing nearby, the Wysterian King next to him. You can see that Byron’s changed his clothes as well, and has a thicker, longer cape around him. The queen takes the king’s hand when he offers it to her, and they motion for you and Byron to get in the carriage. Byron watches you for a brief moment, and you simply stare back before inclining your head toward the carriage.

A tiny, tiny little smile tugging at his lips, he gets in, cape fluttering around him like ink. You get in after him, sitting on his right side, since you imagine the king and queen want to sit together.

Once you’re all in, the two together and sitting closely as expected, it’s quiet for a few long moments. You leave your hood up, although it doesn’t obscure your face, and pull the ends around you tightly to try and thaw out your frozen body.

“I imagine this will cause a lot of problems.” The Wysterian king sighs out, looking to some degree concerned and almost shaken. The queen nods, her lips turning downwards.

“I don’t wish for it myself, but I can see the nobility backing a declaration of war for this. Even if Protea declare it as an accident, they can’t escape the fact that they were the cause of so many nobles being exposed to such danger. Besides that, they evidently didn’t do what they claimed they did.”

Byron makes a sound of acknowledgement. “Unfortunately, I think you are correct. There is really no other option for a reaction to this.”

Your eyes have been focused on what’s going on outside, with the carriages being loaded with the last few nobles and the knights mounting their horses, seemingly for the most part in semi-dry clothes. They tear away from the scene, though, when you feel the stares of all three rulers on you. The queen is the first to speak to you directly.

“Are you sure you’re alright, General ___?” She asks timidly, looking openly worried now. You simply nod, trying to ignore the biting, aching pain starting to throb through your limbs.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Your response is short and not particularly elaborate, but they seem to understand when they see you wince ever so slightly, the muscles in your legs seizing up painfully.

You let out a quiet breath, eyeing the Protean nobility, who are starting to approach the stables. You hear the coachman call that everyone is ready to move, and the king tells him to head straight for Wysteria Palace.

“They’ll probably call on other countries to assist them if it comes to war, although I can also see them using their political alliances to lessen the threat of war against them should they call for emergency talks. Whether or not those talks will be listened to, I’m not entirely sure.”

There’s a beat of tense silence. Finally, Byron’s voice breaks it, shattering the quiet. “I will attend any crisis talks, but what they say about this will almost certainly be irrelevant. I detest war, but this is not something that can be easily forgiven.”

The Wysterian royals share a long, intense look. Finally, the king declares, voice grave, “We will attend, but ultimately, I doubt they can say anything which could ward off a war.”

You remain silent, staring out at the scenery, snow-covered and sparkling in the late-night moonlight. You don’t want to go to war. Although you have every political right to do it, and even though you know that you could probably go in with several other countries and survive with minimal casualties, you don’t want to do it at all.

You’ve seen war. You’ve felt it. You’ve started it.

You still carry the weight of your own revolution, and you’ve never quite been the same since you made it out of the civil war. You would never wish to experience that again, ever. This is hardly something to call on a full-scale war for.

Your decision is made, for now. You will have to consult your people, but for now, this is your choice.

“I will attend. I will discuss it with the people of Vinessia before I make a decision.”

Your declaration is almost soft, voice borderline weak from cold and tiredness, but at the same time your words are immutable and almost like steel.

No one says anything.

You hold back a laugh. There’s nothing to be said.

**†** **♛** **†**

When you arrive at Wysteria Palace, you are seen to by a doctor, then shown to a guest bedroom. You immediately take a long, very hot bath, thoroughly letting your body soak and warm itself back up. You feel to some degree sick when you get out, and also to some extent dizzy, but otherwise you’re better. Exhausted, yes, and stressed out of your mind, yes, but physically sort of okay.

The Wysterian Royals told you and Byron that it would not be expected for anyone to come to the dinner prepared, since some of the nobles already made it clear that they weren’t feeling up to eating. The majority just said that they’d prefer to rest and eat in their temporary rooms if possible.

You’re not hungry. You haven’t eaten in a good nine or so hours, but you barely notice the fact, since you don’t actually feel the hunger. Your body is still trying to readjust itself and work out what’s going on, so it’s not focused on how much food you’ve got in you at the moment.

So, you remain in your room, having told Xander and Tobias sternly that they need to focus on themselves and stay in their temporary barracks, making sure they don’t get sick as well. There was a lot of violent protest at first, but eventually the other knights dragged them off, promising to not let them try to find you and to get them changed into their dry clothes.

Your form is prone on the chaise lounge in front of the fire, the flames licking at the wood in the pit gracefully. The heat is amazing and very much welcome, despite you already having a blanket draped over yourself.

You are just about to fall into sleep when there’s a quiet knock at the door, followed by a smooth, deep voice. “General ___, may I have a word?”

Your eyes snap open.

_Byron?_

You practically fling yourself up and onto your feet, crossing the room swiftly and unlocking the door. Trying to settle the rising nerves and emotions stirring inside your body, you open it, revealing Byron stood calmly on the other side. He’s in the same clothes as earlier, you observe, although he’s now got a cape on as usual instead of his cloak. You’ve done the same, albeit you were tempted to leave the cloak on for added warmth.

“King Byron.” You say, unable to hide the mild surprise in your tone. “Of course.”

He pauses for a moment, as if deciding something. “On a normal occasion I’d usually go somewhere else to have a word with someone, but considering the circumstances, I’d imagine it would be wiser to remain somewhere warm. Is it alright if I speak to you in here?”

Your heart suddenly starts to pound away in your chest, excitement fluttering through you. Confused but also very much not confused by said reaction, you nod, stepping back. “Yes, it’s fine. Come in.”

He nods his thanks, coming in and closing the door behind him. You cross your arms habitually, giving him a quick once-over to check for injuries or sickness. You find nothing. “How are you feeling? Were you hurt at all?”

For a few long seconds, he goes completely stone-still, eye widening slightly. His expression betrays surprise and what almost looks like bafflement, before a tiny little smile tugs at his lips. “You were the one who was in the water three times, and you’re asking me about my condition?”

You can feel your cheeks heating up, and not from the fire. You divert your eyes, responding with a small huff, “It doesn’t matter how many times I went in. You were still in there as well, and you could have gotten just as hurt.”

His eye almost seems to smoulder now, a strange, oddly beautiful mix of kindness, confusion and appreciation swirling in his one iris. He gives a small shake of his head, his smile still very much there. You gesture to the chaise lounge, wondering if he wants to sit down, and he does so with another nod. You seat yourself at the end with the raised back, since he takes his place in the middle, crossing one leg over the other.

“Although I will agree to disagree with that, I appreciate the concern nonetheless.” His smile fades, expression becoming completely serious and much more intense in a mere second. “How is your cheek? Were you injured anywhere else?”

You resist the urge to reach up to your face, becoming instantly reminded of the dull throbbing in your cheekbone. It hasn’t bruised, but the skin is slightly marked, and the pain is still there. “It’s fine.”

His expression changes again, flattening now. “___, I believe we made an agreement to each other.”

You freeze in your place.

_“General ___, you need not hide your pain around me.”_

_"I want you to do the same. I want you to stop hiding your pain around me, to be yourself around me."_

You wince, feeling the swell of guilt and remorse in your chest. “I apologise. It hurts a little, but it’s fading now. The skin is marked, but there’s no bruising or cut that I can see.”

He nods, seeming to relax slightly. He moves forward, toward you, and you notice your nerves going haywire when you realise that he’s only a few inches away from you. You can feel the calm composure radiating from him, and can see his beautiful eye up close, to you almost easy to read and decipher despite how others find doing so difficult. “Would you allow me to have a look myself?”

Your breath catches just slightly, excitement and simultaneous confusion racing through you. Still, not at all opposed to this, and feeling like you can trust him more than ever to be like this with you, you nod.

Turning your face so that the injured cheek is illuminated by the flames’ glow, you see his hand rising up in your peripheral vision. Your muscles tense involuntarily, but you hide it by shifting in your seat, sitting up straighter.

Very, very lightly, gingerly and carefully, his fingers rest under your jaw, thumb tenderly brushing across your cheekbone. The skin there warms under his touch, and almost instantly, you’re overwhelmed by a very odd sense of relaxation, safety and appreciation. You can barely keep your eyes open as he runs the pad of his thumb over your flesh, moving even closer to carefully inspect it. “I think you’re correct, thankfully. You were looked over by the doctor at some point, were you not?”

You nod. You briefly had her check you over, and she said there wasn’t any lasting damage to your cheek; it’s probably just internally bruised from the force the noble used. “Yes. She said that there’s no long-term damage and that it’s most likely just internal bruising that’s causing the pain to persist.”

He makes another sound of acknowledgement, not releasing you from his wonderful, almost painfully gentle touch. He goes still for a few seconds, and you realise after the fifth second that he’s now staring at your visible eye, expression almost too full of conflicting emotion for you to pick out anything specific.

“You know, I realised several things today, and I experienced something very strange in the midst of it all.”

Your heart seems to stumble over a few beats, stuttering erratically. Your mind whirls, and you look at him in the side of your vision. He smiles just slightly again. His fingers move, instead taking your chin very lightly between his index finger and thumb, then using it to gently move your head to face him.

He doesn’t let go again, and your breathing picks up slightly at the velvety, uncharacteristically kind, tender tone he speaks in. You care barely think of a reply, asking timidly, “What were they?”

He moves closer to you again, and much to your surprise, you don’t move back like you normally would. You don’t want to in the slightest. His voice drops, becoming even richer and deeper while still possessing the same emotions.

“It feels wrong to even consider admitting such a thing, since I have, for a long time, considered emotions to be irrelevant and something that would never affect me. However, I feel as though I have… changed of late. I’ve felt things that I have never experienced recently, emotions which to be honest have left me confused and not understanding myself even when I thought I knew who I was in full confidence.”

Your breathing stops. Your thoughts race, eyes never leaving his single one, and he doesn’t once look away from you.

“It has taken me considerable time to work out the meaning of such emotions and understand them, but now that I do, I find myself unable to ignore them.” He lips tug up again, almost like something amuses him. “You look surprised. What is it?”

You blink yourself back into consciousness, suddenly more aware than ever of his proximity, and his fingers holding your chin. “I just… I never would have expected you to tell me something like this. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just…” You can feel your heart thudding again, pulse almost deafening you. “Taken me by surprise a little.”

A wave of emotion rolls through him for a few heartbeats, before he slowly nods. “I understand. I am aware that this might not be the most appropriate time to tell you this, but it is, in some respects, the only time that I may say this to you. You asked me to be myself with you, and to do that, I must ask you for advice.”

And yet another shock. His hand falls away from your chin, and you instantly feel an absence of security, and a sense of loss. You nod, swallowing thickly. He turns to look out of the windows, staring out at the stars while he murmurs, “Today, I thought you were going to die on two separate occasions. And in the moments when that thought occurred to me, I felt such emotion that I had no way to even react to it.”

He looks back to you, gaze settling on your face. “Do you know what that means?”

Your skin is most definitely getting warmer, and your mind is racing. Does he possibly feel something for you? Could he love you too? Could fate be so twisted as to bring the two of you, of all people, together?

“Well… usually when you react really strongly to something like that, it would generally be because… because you… um…” You feel almost scared saying this, and you’re not quite sure why. “Because you care about them. The more people care, the more intensely they usually respond to seeing the person they care about in a situation like that.”

He’s silent. Several agonising seconds pass, and then he speaks again, his insides clenching with anticipation. “And is that the same as loving someone?”

Your breath catches in your throat. Your heart twists in your chest, starting to pound away. “What?”

He smiles at your reaction, eye softening. “From what I’ve heard, when someone loves someone else, that is a separate emotion to caring about them. Is that correct?”

You have to look away now, body and mind going into overdrive. “Not in essence, because in some ways, loving someone _is_ caring about them, only much stronger more seriously. Some people would say that just ‘caring’ is platonic love, but then the stronger emotions and deeper relationship with someone would be more of a romantic love. Other people would say that there’s no difference, and that love is just love. It’s… hard to explain.”

He takes a moment to process this, still watching your flushed face while you stare at your hands.

Finally, he comes to a decision.

He knows what he is feeling. He’s done enough research, has heard so many stories and come to understand his emotions enough to know, that this love is more than just platonic friendship. It’s more than just being concerned for your welfare.

For the first time for him, this is real, true, romantic love.

“So,” He murmurs. “If I were to experience these odd sensations every time I see a certain person, and have the desire to be with them nearly all of the time, if not permanently, and if I cannot seem to move my thoughts from them, what would that mean?”

You can barely think of something to say.

_He… he feels… is this definitely me he’s talking about? He can’t be, right? It’s not possible._

“That sounds like the- the romantic side of love.” You manage to get out, your voice dropping to just above a whisper.

His hand comes up again, but this time it cups your unmarked cheek with a tenderness that sends your emotions off the rails, hormones going into a frenzy.

“I see.” Your eyes stay fixed on his chest, since you’re unable to meet his gaze, and a breathy laugh briefly escapes him. Your heart stutters again. “To think, I have never felt anything remotely like this before in my entire life, and yet you’ve reduced me to this in mere months.”

He gently tilts your head up, and you finally look him in the eye, seeing it clear and full of emotion, not at all hidden or masked. “___, I believe that I am in love with you.”

_I… how on earth?_

Your brain struggles to comprehend this at first, your defensive mind telling you that he’s just lying to use you, that this is all an act. But at the same time, you just know that he isn’t lying, and you know in your instincts that this is real.

And you know that you feel the same way. You realised it that night, when you wanted Byron there with you to chase the nightmares away and keep you safe.

“Byron, I think I…” Your voice trails off, and you take a moment to compose yourself, steeling yourself and readying yourself for the worst. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Everything in him explodes with happiness, so strong and violent that it almost takes his breath away. It feels almost surreal, to think that he decided to do this in a moment of clarity with the expectation of you not feeling the same way.

And yet, here you are, loving him despite the odds.

His lips are graced by a peaceful smile, contentment and relief passing over his features. The shock starting to wear off, you find yourself returning it, body losing the tension that has gradually accumulated over the past few minutes. His gloved hand remains on your face, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone tenderly.

“In truth, this is rather unlike me, to be so upfront about what I feel. After what happened today, though, and experiencing the sensation of losing you twice, I cannot remain silent anymore. You asked me to be honest with you, and that is what I want to do.”

If it’s possible, your body flushes with heat again, emotion swelling in your chest. You stay quiet, and he adds, “Admittedly, when I came to realise that the odds of going to war were high, I decided that I should tell you sooner rather than later.”

Seeing your face fall, gaze dropping to his chest again, he moves his fingers to brush a stray lock of your hair away from your face, letting the strand rest atop his palm. “I will almost certainly be going to fight. That is something that is near enough guaranteed.”

Your eyes close, throat thickening. Your mind screams, crying out for him not to go and put himself in harm’s way, but you know that he has little other choice. Some kings decide to fight with their soldiers, some don’t, and some do both. You don’t blame Byron for wanting to go with them, because you have fought and would fight again with yours, and if the countries call on Vinessia for aid in this war, you will fight too.

“Vinessia has already agreed to offer support to Stein, Wysteria and Laurelia in times of crisis and war, as we agreed when you offered the same to us. If help is needed in battle, we will assist with soldiers and weaponry. I will fight with my people.” Your words are soft, but they carry a heavy weight.

His expression is blank once more, but his actions convey his feelings.

He cups your face in his hands, leaning down so that his own is inches away from yours. Calm and collected, he closes his eye, pressing his lips to your forehead.

Your eyes snap open in surprise, but you don’t find yourself trying to move out from his touch. You simply stay there, heart pounding again, while he murmurs into your skin, “We will only call on Vinessia if we truly require assistance. I do not want any more blood to be shed than absolutely necessary.”

You start to relax into him, eyes closing again. He is momentarily surprised, feeling your body shift slightly closer, one knee brushing against his. After a second, though, it registers in his brain that this is right and that he wants you to be like this with him. He wants to hold you in his arms, to cherish you and love you, for the little time he knows he has left for certain.

After tomorrow, anything could happen. It’s likely that he, and possibly you, will die in the next few weeks.

“I’m so tired…” He hears your mumbled words and opens his eye is surprise, pulling back just a little to study your expression. Your own eyes are still closed, but your eyelids rise ever so slightly when he moves back, and a wistful smile ghosts over your lips. “Nothing in this world is easy, is it?”

There’s a very sorrowful element in your tone. Thinking about it, he realises that you’ve had a rather awful life, and that you’ve had very little time to relax and be happy because of everything that’s happened over the years. Upon breaking away from Stefan, you were constantly hiding and running from him, unable to go out for fear of being seen.

After that, you went through the horrors of war, something that can destroy even the strongest person’s mind. Then, you have been thrown into the deep end of political chaos and now face an even bigger, even more serious battle that could make or break you…

You didn't deserve any of this. You should have had so much more, shouldn’t have suffered so much so soon.

“No,” He responds, seeing you meet his gaze now, exhaustion clear as day in your body language. “But the hardest part, for now, has not started yet. For the moment, you should rest. Your body needs to recover from the day.”

You nod slowly. Your body is so heavy, weak with exertion and stress, as well as a lack of food.

Before you even register it, your head tips forward, falling against his shoulder.

Mind jerking back into awareness, you sit back, thoughts reeling with panic. “I’m sorry- I-”

Before you can finish apologising, his arms wind around your body carefully, one hand lightly pressing your face into his shoulder again and muffling your words. The other hand rests on your back, moving you to be right up to him, both of your thighs now touching. You freeze against him. “Byron?”

He only smiles slightly, musing with a hint of humour in his voice, “You apologise far too much, for things you shouldn’t be sorry for. If you want to do this, you need only say it. I don’t mind.”

Pulse thumping away inside you, you try to hide your blush by burying your face in his uniform. Your hands come up cautiously, slowly, before settling against his chest. You can feel his heartbeat through his jacket under your palm, and can feel the strong, slightly quick pumping against it. He tightens his embrace marginally, and you finally feel that blissful, peaceful sense of safety and love that you’ve missed for a long time.

This feels so, so right, and you are once again struck with the realisation that you’re in love with the King of Stein.

But your thoughts quickly take a dark turn, and something occurs to you. “Byron?”

His fingers sift through your hair, chin coming to settle itself atop your head. “Yes?”

You pause for a moment, feeling a sense of guilt and muted panic rising up in you. “What about what I said earlier, about marriage and children? I don’t think that’s something that’s going to change. You’re the king – you’ll be expected to marry and produce an heir at some point. I don’t-” Your voice cracks with worry and more intense guilt. “I don’t think I can do that, I’m sorry-”

“___.”

You stop yourself at his sigh of your name. He waits for a few heartbeats before speaking again.

“I was fully aware of that, and completely respected your decision, as soon as you said it. Even when I chose to talk to you about how I feel, I knew that it is something I will have to face when the time comes. For now, it isn’t something for you to worry about at all. I imagine you wouldn’t want to announce _this_ yet, and I wouldn’t want to myself because of the political tensions already running high at the moment. However, when it is time, it’s a problem we can deal with together. You do not, and will not, have to do anything you don’t want to. I will find a way to make it work.”

He gently tips your head back enough look into your eyes, his own orbs confident and honest. “This is my promise to you.”

For a second time, he places a soft, feather-light kiss on your forehead.

_This is him swearing to me that we’ll get through this. I have to believe and trust in him._

“Thank you.” You whisper the words shakily.

He just pulls you back into his arms, cradling your body close like he’s shielding it from the world.

You melt into him, clinging to his warmth, his strength, his love and promise. For a short eternity, he holds you there, feeling your form gradually relax and go limp against him. Not too long after, he hears your breathing slow, becoming deeper and steadier, and feels your heartbeat settle out under the hand on your back. Peeking around your hair at your face, he observes how your expression is beautifully, breathtakingly peaceful and unworried, finally content and comfortable.

Thinking that you might end up sore if you sleep like this, and seeing that it’s well past midnight already, he smiles to himself. He makes sure to not jostle you as much as possible while he unclips your cape, then unfastens your boots before slipping them off your feet. From what he heard earlier, your knights said that they’d keep Xander and Tobias from coming to see you so as to make sure they’re taken care of, and he doesn’t want to put you to bed in your uniform, so he deems it as appropriate to at least get your jacket and boots off.

Besides, it’s his fault you’re up so late when you should have been asleep earlier.

Amazingly, you manage to sleep through him getting your jacket off, at which point he scoops you up in his arms, carrying you over to the bed. Pulling the covers back, he very carefully lays you down, watching as you roll onto your side and curl up. His smile coming back, he tucks you in tightly, not wanting you to catch a chill considering how much cold you were exposed to today.

You remain fast asleep, face and hair bathed in the moonlight coming in through the windows. Byron reaches down run his hand over your hair for a few long seconds, stroking the soft strands in a soothing, repetitive motion. Deciding to leave you in peace, and to get to bed himself, he leans down to place a last kiss on the crown of your head before pulling back.

Closing the curtains and dousing the flames in the fireplace, he moves to the door, where he listens out for any sign of movement or presence. He finds none and glances back at you over his shoulder, trying to engrave the sight of you into his mind.

_Even if she never becomes the Queen of Stein, she is my queen now._

He slowly opens the door and checks that no one is around, finding the corridors silent and empty. He slips out and closes the door behind him, setting off for his room, which is a guest room situated where the Steiner nobility are staying. He absently wonders where Nico and Albert are, since he ordered them to ensure that his knights were accommodated and happy, which simultaneously granted him the opportunity to come and see you.

And he doesn’t regret it. He feels like a weight has been lifted from him, now that you know how he feels, and now that he knows you feel the same way.

Returning to his room, Byron decides to head straight for bed. He goes through the motions of getting himself ready before falling into bed, feeling the exhaustion of the day hit him hard. His limbs feel heavy and weak, and he wonders if he did indeed catch a chill from the water.

He remembers how you dragged him up when he was unable to do it himself, and how you told him how to survive. He remembers you saying, so matter-of-fact and calm, that the water wouldn’t kill him “yet” and that he needed to remain calm.

He owes you his life. If you hadn’t have pulled him up and gotten him back to his senses, he imagines he could well have died in those first few seconds.

He settles himself in bed, not bothering to close the curtains so he can stare out at the stars. He’s struck with another foreign sensation, an odd aching, twisting in his chest, accompanied by the crushing realisation that you’re not with him. It’s like he’s suddenly become empty not having you there, having enjoyed and relished in embracing you and holding you close while you fell into sleep.

Now you’re gone, it feels wrong.

Sighing softly, he swears to himself again, promises on his honour as a man and as the king, to make sure that you remain safe and protected. He promises that he will make you happy and will give you the life you’ve been deprived of.

And for once, he almost doesn’t care if he has to die for it to happen.


	9. Part IX | Declaration. Hurt. Touch.

**†** **♛** **†**

The next morning, the King and Queen of Wysteria call a meeting with the leaders within the castle. The Queen of Carallia, the King and Queen of Lindera with their daughter, the princess, and the King of Laurelia are all there with their nobilities.

The meeting doesn’t start for another half an hour, but the leaders and their partial nobilities are there early. Byron stands among his own nobility, listening to the droning of the bureaucrats about how dreadful and frightening yesterday was. His mind goes back to you every time, thinking about how you were in there the longest and suffered the most, and yet complained so little if at all about it.

He looks around him, seeing the different parties stood in their respective national groups. You aren’t here yet.

He forces back a sigh, wishing for you to arrive so he can relax. He’s mildly worried that you might have taken a turn for the worse overnight and gotten sick.

Another few minutes pass, and then the doors open again. The room quietens a little, and the present monarchs glance over to watch you walk in. You look fine, on a whole, if not still somewhat tired. You’re back in your normal uniform, and aren’t wearing your cloak, but he guesses that you might still be chilled from yesterday.

_How strange. I’ve never had thought processes like these before._

You greet the leaders swiftly but still politely, at which point the Wysterian royals ask everyone to sit down at the long, large meeting table, since all of the parties are here. Everyone takes their places, with the Wysterians at the head of the table, going clockwise, with the Steiners after them, the Laurelians next, Vinessia following them opposite the Wysterians, with then the Carallians and Linderans completing the circle.

“So,” The King of Wysteria starts. “It seems that we have a rather deplorable situation on our hands.”

The Queen of Carallia scoffs. “I would hardly call it a mere ‘situation’.”

He winces at her sharp tone, and the Queen of Wysteria replies almost timidly, “Of course. It’s a very serious predicament, which is why we thought it would be best for all of us to gather together without the presence of the Protean bureaucracy, and its king.”

The Queen of Carallia’s eyes move to you, narrowing. “If I might ask before this begins properly, what legitimacy do you hold in here?” Her gaze rolls over your nobility, which is simply comprised of the most knowledgeable and trustworthy, and also the most genuine people in your country, elected by the public. “And your… nobles?”

You fight back the urge to roll your eyes, not in the mood for playing around. “I hold the legitimacy of being the elected leader of Vinessia, and my nobles are made up of citizens of our country who possess the knowledge, skills and capabilities of running, overseeing and managing each and every industry within our nation. They are more than able to, and do, provide societal strength and security, along with acting as guardians of the public.”

Your voice flattens, coming out as an aggravated sigh. “While I hold no legitimacy in a traditional sense, I think you’ll find that I hold just as much, if not more, power than you, and that I am very much able to represent Vinessia through the choice of my people rather than mere inheritance.”

The room is completely silent. You raise an eyebrow. “Does that answer your question? I would think that, at a time like this, it would be more important to deal with the democratic crisis created because of last night’s events, rather than interrogating me about my position of power simply because I wasn’t born into it.”

She looks well and truly offended, but also completely taken aback. She stares at you for a few long seconds, and then her expression twists with obvious fury. “How dare you speak to me like that! I am the Queen of Carallia, and you speak to me with no respect, as if you are even close to my level of authorit-”

“Your Highness.” The snapped words come from the King of Wysteria, so hostile and unexpectedly powerful that she falls silent. He gives her a look of warning.

“You initially addressed General ___ with just as little respect, so you cannot expect to receive the same, especially considering that her point is very right and relevant; this is not the time to be widening gaps between our nations. With the possible outcomes of this meeting, we must stand together, not apart.”

His voice softens now, still serious but not as forceful. “We would ask that you do your best to understand that, although General ___ is not amongst a monarchical government or system of rule, she is equivalent to us. She speaks for her people and deserves just as much recognition, more so considering how selfless and heroic her actions were last night.

“Considering her position, she being the leader and representing power of her people, there was little expectation for her to go into the water not only once after she already got out. But, for her to then go in again to assist the hosting bureaucrat of Protea and the one from Stein, that deserves much admiration and respect. So, I would ask that you put your differences aside at least while we deal with this problem, for not only your country but all of ours as well.”

_Wow…_

The queen seems to take a moment to process this, looking genuinely surprised and now almost guilty. She glances at you again, seeing your tired expression, before looking around the other leaders’ faces. For the most part, they seem to be in agreement with the King of Wysteria, if not surprised by his words as well.

Finally, she speaks again, levelling you with a fractionally apologetic stare. “I… apologise. That was out of line. Please, forgive my rudeness.”

You simply nod. “Of course. Thank you.”

This only seems to add to her guilt; you guess she’s wondering why you’re thanking her for apologising. In all honesty, you didn’t want to, but you need to put yourself across as a good leader. You can’t be _completely_ ruthless and emotionless if you want allies.

Byron speaks now, guiding the conversation back to the original topic. “We should probably start by stating our positions on this situation.”

There are nods around the room. The King and Queen of Wysteria share a look, and then the queen speaks, sounding grimly final. “By popular vote and discussion amongst ourselves, Wysteria cannot see any other response than declaring war on Protea.”

Your lips press together tightly. You look to Byron. He nods, face inexpressive and betraying no emotion. “Stein has decided that it too cannot overlook what happened, and that the only viable response is a declaration of war.”

The King of Laurelia’s face shows mild disappointment, and his answer comes out for the most part as a sigh. “Laurelia is unwilling to go to war, but if needs must, we will engage in battle as well. We stand by the agreements we have made with Stein and Wysteria, in that we will assist should it be needed.”

All eyes settle on you. Ignoring the crushing pressure from half of the continent’s leaders staring at you, you give your decision, one that you made when deliberating with your nobility this morning. “Vinessia will not declare war on Protea, but we will assist should it be necessary, and we will adhere to our agreements with all of the nations here.”

You’re certain you see relief in Byron’s expression, only for a fraction of a second, but it’s there.

The King of Lindera goes next, announcing, “We too will declare war on Protea. They have had this coming for a long time, for a multitude of reasons I need not mention.”

You can’t disagree with that. Protea has done a lot of politically questionable things over the years and has avoided major war mostly through bribery or manipulation of political figures. Lindera in particular, while not the biggest ally of Wysteria and Laurelia, has had some significant clashes with Protea in recent times.

You hate the Protean king; even when you saw him at soirées as a child with Stefan, he was cruel and cunning. He’s an abuser of power and not someone to be trusted, as is the Prime Minister.

Finally, the Queen of Carallia finishes the verdicts, answering somewhat quietly, “We will not declare war on Protea, by decision of my nobility and myself.”

You immediately start to work through the logistics of this.

Three out of six involved nations declaring war on Protea. Protea has two main, close allies other than Stein that would possibly assist in this instance, those being Alder and another neighbouring nation. The declaring side has two nations willing to help for definite, and Carallia has some blurry agreements with Lindera in terms of aid during war.

So, essentially, assuming that all of the assisting countries become involved… It’s five or six against three, to Stein and Wysteria’s side.

It’s quiet for a moment. The nobles have been murmuring to each other around the table, casting glances around them, most of them looking satisfied if not excited. You stare at the table, mapping out the possible locations for the war if it happens and working out the best ways to provide assistance to the other countries.

“This is not confirmed, however.” The King of Wysteria says lowly, glancing at Byron. “I imagine Protea may offer something as an alternative, or try to avoid a conflict.”

Byron nods slowly. “I expect that they will arrange crisis talks to deescalate the situation in any way possible.”

The Princess of Lindera goes to speak, but she pauses when the door opens and a messenger pops his head into the room. He silently hands a piece of parchment to Giles Christophe, stood behind the Wysterian royals’ chairs. He takes the parchment and reads it swiftly, the whole room focused on his face. You notice that his eyebrows furrow just a little, a hint of alarm sparking in his eyes. He leans down to murmur to his king and queen, handing them the message.

For a few long seconds, they read over it, eventually going stone still almost in sync. Your stomach twists with dread, heartbeat speeding up just a bit.

Eventually, the queen takes in a deep breath. “It seems that there has been a development in Protea overnight. Our sources have confirmed that the host of the party had an execution order carried out against him, but it has been leaked that he attempted to assassinate the King of Protea before escaping. His whereabouts are unknown, because from what we know, a group of militants belonging to the king’s royal guard helped him to get away before he could be taken into custody.”

You freeze in place.

You’ve seen this before. It’s similar to what you did during the revolution.

_A noble, setting up a party that was obviously unsafe, but claiming for it not to be. Putting six leaders at risk of death out of the blue, not even just one… and then attempting to assassinate his own king afterward. A branch of the monarch’s own guard helping him to escape despite the fact that he’s just made the biggest diplomatic mistake possible, and betraying their allegiances to their own leader for it?_

You’re dragged from your thoughts by Byron’s deep voice as it reverberates through the room. “That strikes me as odd. For a group of militants of the guard to betray their king’s orders, it sounds as if there is instability within the foundations of Protea’s government.”

He’s thinking like you did. You may as well chip in a bit, since you’ve heard of this happening in other countries. “It almost sounds like the bureaucrat did this deliberately, to put Protea in a position of having war declared on it. And then to attempt to assassinate him, imagine the power vacuum and uncertainty that would create in Protea if it had succeeded.”

The room goes deathly silent. You guess your words make sense. “And as an added point to consider, he must have already known, as soon as the ice cracked, that he would be held responsible for everything that would happen afterward. If it was genuinely an accident and he didn’t foresee it going wrong, why would he then hit me after I helped him?

“It would only worsen the situation and make Vinessia more likely to declare war, creating even bigger problems for Protea. If he wasn’t hoping for that, I would have thought he wouldn’t have dared do such a thing, even if it was out of anger.”

You let out a slow breath, trailing off. “Either he was drunk to the point of not realising this, drunk to the point of not caring, didn’t care for the impact it would have afterward, or he was doing it on purpose…”

The Queen of Carallia seems to pick up where you stop, murmuring, “Almost like a martyr. To have militants luckily there to help him after doing such a thing, ones willing to betray the king for the sake of a noble, it’s unlikely at best. It sounds coordinated and planned. Although it’s foolish to jump to conclusions, your theory unfortunately makes sense, General ___.”

The Princess of Lindera scowls, looking extremely tense and somewhat upset. “But why? Why would he want his own country to go to war, and with six possible nations? It’s a huge risk even to brush a conflict with one country. Granted, the king didn’t really seem too concerned while it was all happening.”

You can feel Byron’s eyes on you. Your insides clench uncomfortably, mind flashing back to when you took Stefan down. You used that method on a smaller scale, to start the civil war between the supporters of the tyranny and those who opposed it.

“It’s just a guess, but it sounds to me like he’s trying to destabilise the whole of Protea. If he wanted to jeopardise the king in specific, there are less dramatic ways to do it. To practically run head-first into a disaster with six nations is to invite destruction into the country. I have no idea why the king wasn’t reacting much, though.”

“Even so, perhaps the noble just wants Protea destroyed completely.” Byron’s words almost send a shiver running through you.

The Queen of Wysteria turns to Giles, face completely focused and serious. “Can you investigate the host and find out everything you can about him?”

He nods, bowing lowly. “Of course, Your Highness. If you’ll excuse me.”

He leaves quickly, going off to get the job done. That leaves the room nearly silent again, apart from some of the nobles, who now look more disturbed and much less eager than before.

_Another revolution, maybe. But this one isn’t constructive; this is suicide, and a mission to obliterate a country in its entirety. If we’re right, that man wants his whole nation to burn. All of those citizens, who have nothing to do with it, all the young people who’ll suffer for this…_

Your eyes lower to the table, nerves prickling with mild discomfort. Your mind wanders, recalling Stefan telling you about a king of another country not too long ago, one who went to war and failed to take care of his people. You remember him telling you that they revolted against him out of desperation, and that the country was destroyed as a result. The king was driven out and fled to another country.

You remember your shock when you worked out who he was, and learned who he is now.

The meeting continues for a bit longer, with arrangement being made for dates when crisis talks can be made should Protea offer them, along with other agreements on the assistance that will be given should a war be declared.

Afterwards, the Carallians, Linderans and Laurelians leave, saying that they want to return home quickly. You want to as well, but you wish to finalise things with Wysteria at least as much as possible, if not with Stein too.

When they’re gone, the Wysterian royals invite you and Byron to have some tea while you all talk, and you agree politely, as does Byron.

Sitting in one of the more casual rooms of the palace, you take a seat on a couch to the left of the one where the king and queen sit, with Byron on the couch to their right, opposite you. You take sips of your tea every now and again, listening to Byron start the conversation. “Although I have work to complete at home, I wished to have some sort of indication as to how the war would go in terms of location and strategy.”

His eye moves to you. “And, although it is somewhat unfair of me to ask this, I would appreciate your input on how it would be best to proceed. After all, you probably have the most knowledge of real war and conflict out of us all, having gone through it yourself.”

You stifle the urge to sink back into the couch, feeling your insides clenching uncomfortably, mind flashing back to the revolution. Before your mind’s eye, you see it all again; the slicing of skin and bone, gore flying everywhere, the castle painted and pooling with blood, skulls smashed in or decapitated, throats sliced and bodies lining the hallways, so many lives lost just for a chance at freedom-

“General ___?”

_Shit!_

Your eyes jerk up to the queen, and you see the three of them watching you closely. You hear Xander and Tobias, stood behind your couch, move closer, and you send them a look telling them to leave it alone.

You mentally scold yourself for letting your emotions tip over, even though the revolution is something that you’re still struggling to come to terms with. It’s still something that’s fresh in your mind, and something you struggle to talk about. “Apologies. I will give as much guidance and advice as I can.”

It’s at this point that Giles comes in, bringing with him Alyn Crawford and a large map, along with flags and pieces used to represent the different troops and forces used in battle. A small shudder rolls down your spine, but you manage to keep your expression blank as he sets it on the table in between the couches.

“We understand that this might seem hasty, but we think it best to strategise now, should things go downhill and the situation escalate all of a sudden.” The queen says, sounding grim again. You just nod, responding mirthlessly,

“I understand. Trust me, I had our attack planned out a year before we actually launched it.” Lips twitching up bitterly, you move forward, studying the map as it’s set down. It’s one of the whole continent, with all of the countries in the region shown and labelled.

Your brain kicks into battle mode, Stefan’s lessons and your tutors’ voices whispering inside your head. You recall all the things they taught you, all the warnings and little things that can tip the balance of a fight in your direction.

“Should the war start, I would imagine it would be launched at the eastern border between Stein and Protea. That would be the most logical, considering that our defences are the best and it would be the easiest point to attack from.” Byron starts off, indicating to the eastern border near the south of Stein.

You frown just slightly, instincts recoiling. You know most of the borders of Stein, Protea, Wysteria and Laurelia, and a good half of Lindera and Carallia’s borders. This one would be a bad idea to launch an attack from; it’s right next to the neighbouring country that Protea is allied with. It just makes it simpler for them to send in more troops should Protea feel like they need them.

You slowly shake your head, voice respectful but honest. “While it is easy to defend and attack from there, you’re giving Protea a quicker, simpler way to call on more troops from its ally. It leaves you open to attack, and if I remember correctly, there aren’t any geographical features at this border which can be used to your advantage. There’s too much vulnerability here. Calling on reinforcements would be less effective, since they’d see them coming a good minute before they arrive.”

Byron looks very, very mildly taken aback by your words. You can't stop yourself from looking down now, fear coiling in you that you’ve screwed up and stepped out of line. “I apologise. I shouldn’t have-”

“General ___, why on earth are you apologising?” Your eyes snap up again, heart stuttering at Byron’s almost sighed question. You go still, not exactly wanting to actually answer. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I asked you to give your opinion on this, and you did. Why would you feel compelled to say sorry?”

_Ah. He probably doesn’t realise how much I got the shit beaten out of me for answering questions even slightly wrong or “stepping out of line”._

Your eyes skitter back to the table, fists clenching from discomfort without you even realising. “I…” You can’t find it in you to say it. It’s not important right now. “I don’t know. I apologise.” The last words slip out before you can stop yourself, and you shake your head at yourself, realising you’ve just apologised for nothing. Again.

The Wysterian king speaks now, his voice gentle and encouraging. “If you think there is a better place to hold the attack, please, feel free to set it up as you would. This is only preliminary, to get an idea of how we might go about it.”

_They need to be careful. They don’t know war first-hand. Byron is trained in terms of military expertise and in war for definite, but it’s unlikely that his upbringing on it was like mine. His father, while a tyrant, was never in a war. Stefan wasn’t my father, but he taught me many things about it, and he was in three over his lifetime._

You let out a slow, deep breath, composing yourself. Your thought processes shift, doing as the tutors told you, moving into a different mind-set. Everything in your brain turns to battle, to routines and patterns and weak points, bottlenecks and vantage points. Cavalry, infantry… it’s like your whole mind changes in an instant.

You lean forward, going through each border logically, murmuring to yourself every few moments. Advantages, disadvantages, risk assessment, geographical strongpoints and features. Everything else blurs away, the rest of the room disappearing around you, attention completely and utterly focused on the best, strongest strategy you can come up with.

You’re so engrossed in the map, fingers deft and nimble as they reach for pieces and place them at certain points, moving quickly and sure, that you don’t even hear the King of Wysteria speak. His tone is admiring and amazed, not to mention full of respect. “Such precision. Everything she’s doing is so careful and calculated. I can’t imagine being able to strategise so efficiently and quickly.”

The queen nods, watching you work in awe. “She’s completely absorbed in it. Her focus is breathtaking.”

Byron says nothing, but he’s watching you very, very closely, monitoring your condition. He hadn’t thought about it when he asked for your advice, but when he saw you go quiet and stare off all of a sudden, he realised his mistake; by asking you to do this, you’re having to remember things that are no doubt painful to bring back, and in front of two other leaders no less.

He must get better at this. He needs to learn, or he’s going to keep hurting you without even knowing it.

The map is densely populated with pieces now, but in such a way that it’s not difficult to make out what’s going on and where everything is. It’s clear where each of the nations’ troops are by their flags, their positions and routes are indicated by their pieces’ rotations, and it’s perfectly obvious where the defensive and offensive troops are.

“Amazing…” The King of Wysteria breathes out, seeing you place down the last infantry piece.

You finish setting up the pieces as well as you can, before then sitting back, the room slowly sharpening and coming back to you. Your senses, which have almost been hazy and not quite functional while you’ve been planning, return to you in a snap, a barrage of information converging on your body all at once.

You wince, then raise your eyes.

Alyn has moved forward now, and is crouching down by the table, studying your setup closely. The king and queen are doing the same, discussing it while they do, and Giles assesses it from behind their couch.

Albert and Nico, having been extraordinarily quiet the whole day, have now come to look at the map as well, with Albert muttering to himself over each troop’s position and the layout of the formation. Nico’s eyes are approving, and he sends you a bright smile.

You can’t get yourself to smile back. You can only nod mutely, watching the room blur for a brief moment.

It’s now that you realise your heart is beating way too fast, and that you know the sensation rising up in your chest very well.

_Damn it._

You’ve remembered too much. Anything else, you can cope with. The revolution, though… it’s not something you think you’ll ever be able to face without this happening.

You can feel Byron watching you, can sense his burning stare boring into you. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, instead dreading anyone saying anything to you directly about the map, dreading someone telling you something’s wrong or that you’ve made a mistake somewhere. You know they’re not going to hurt you, and you are completely aware that these people aren’t like Stefan or his tutors. They’re not going to beat you for an error. They’ll point it out, but they won’t harm you for it.

But that matters little. Because all you can think about now is how the mistakes you made during the revolution, even though there were only a few, cost so many lives.

The room tips, blurring again.

For a second, everything’s covered in blood.

“May I be excused for a moment?” Your request echoes in your own ears, ringing and almost fading away. You try to steady your breathing, it having sped up significantly at this point. Their eyes turn to you, barely keeping a straight face, watching them all blur away for a moment, still tipping and shifting around you.

“Of course. Is something wrong?” The queen asks. You shake your head.

“Not at all. I just need a moment to think, to ensure that everything on the map is correct.” You force yourself to your feet, giving a very tiny bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”

You don’t wait for them to react. You just spin on your heels and leave the room quickly, colours and sounds distorting all around you. Your balance is off, but you manage to get out without a problem. You can hear and feel Xander and Tobias behind you, and the urgency of their steps tells you that they’re aware of your condition.

_If I can get back to the room I was in, I can deal with it without fear of being seen._

You head straight down the corridor, brain weakly mapping out the way to the guest room. You barely hear Xander when he speaks, voice low, worried and panicked. “___, stop. You’re pushing yourself too hard. If you’re going down, you need to calm yourself right now. There’s no point trying to get somewhere safe.”

You reach up to press your fingers to your forehead. You’ve only got two corridors to go. “I know. I can make it back to the room, Xander. I’ll stop once I'm in there, and take as much time as I need. I overdid it. I’m aware of that.”

You round the corner into the corridor where the room is.

_Almost there-_

Pain blisters through your head. The world lurches to the right, and your body crashes into the wall.

“Shit!” You hear Tobias snap. The second you start to fall, they lunge toward you, catching you and keeping you on your feet. They hold you up and help you to walk the short distance to the room, then take you inside quickly, Tobias shutting the door behind the three of you. As soon as you hear the sound of it closing, the last of your composure crumbles, and you collapse against Xander, body going limp with stress.

“___, calm down. Look at me. Look around the room. You’re in Wysteria. The war’s over. You’re not there anymore; Stefan’s dead, you’re out of the castle, you’re safe and everyone’s okay because you saved them. We’re here, we’re completely fine.” Xander’s voice is warm and soft, albeit panicked, as he takes you over to the couch and lies you down.

Still breathing too fast, your thoughts whirl. Your sense of trust in them falters for a second, real fear bolting through you. You try to sit up, to get away from them, but Xander keeps you there, stroking your hair and whispering to you in a desperate rush.

“___, please, remember where you are. You’re not there anymore. I promised you, didn’t I? I promised you I’d keep you safe, that you wouldn’t have to hurt anymore. I’m here. Tobias is here. I want you to breathe for me. I want you to look around you. This room isn’t that room, it’s not that place. You’re not in danger here. He can’t hurt you anymore. I promise, ___.”

Your racing thoughts slow just a little. Your eyes move around, taking in the room like he says.

_Wysteria…_

Your eyes settle on the fire.

_Byron… he was here. We’re safe here. He told me…_

Your panic slowly starts to lessen, and you notice now that Tobias is clutching your right hand in his, crouched down next to the couch. Xander’s hand drifts over your hair, stroking very gently and lightly, soothing and calming. His other hand holds your left, gripping it tightly but not enough to hurt.

_Byron loves me. We survived the war. It’s over. I have a chance at being happy._

Your eyes flutter closed, and you manage to control your breathing, focusing on distracting yourself through Byron and knowing that it’s all over.

_I’m safe._

It takes a good few minutes for you to fully calm down and for the panic to recede. Finally, with their continued encouragements and murmurs, their reassurance that you’re okay and that you’re not in danger, you’re able to stabilise yourself again. Xander continues to stroke your hair, kissing your forehead every few moments, while Tobias holds the back of your fingers against his mouth, the warmth from his touch helping you to settle faster.

_But I want Byron._

When you eventually feel mostly back to normal, and like it has pretty much passed, you manage to get your muscles to relax and take a moment to rest. “Thank you.” You mumble, voice barely audible. Xander smiles, looking relieved, before he presses another kiss to your forehead.

“You don’t need to thank us, ___. We tell you every time. We’re just glad you’re not hurt, and that it’s passed quickly, to some extent.” He murmurs back.

Tobias huffs, pressing your hand against the side of his face. “Stop being so nice, ___. You need to focus your energy on making sure you’re as okay as possible, rather than thanking us for something we don’t want to be thanked for.”

You manage a small smile at that, even though you’re still unable to shake the sensation of wanting Byron to be here with you. “Yes, Sir.”

You can feel him rolling his eyes. Xander chuckles breathily, thumb rubbing over your fingers.

Both of them freeze, though, when there’s a knock at the door.

Tobias gives Xander a nod. The latter jerks up and heads for the door, while Tobias helps you to sit up, your eyes now open. You try to make yourself seem as normal as possible, watching Xander open the door just slightly. You hear Giles’ voice speak from the other side. “Sir Xander, I just came to make sure that General ___ was alright. She seemed unwell when she left the room, and the king and queen were rather concerned about her.”

Xander nods, responding calmly, “She’s alright. She appreciates your concern.”

You push yourself to your feet, deciding that the longer you stay away from the meeting, the more questions they’ll ask. Tobias hovers closely, now warier of your condition than ever, but he doesn’t stop you. Making your way to the door, you open it, nodding to Xander before doing the same to Giles. “I apologise for leaving so suddenly. I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble.”

He shakes his head, eyes gentle and understanding. “Of course not. His and Her Highness, and I imagine King Byron, will understand. After everything that happened yesterday, it’s expectable that you might be feeling ill.” His smile fades, expression becoming more serious. “Although, General ___, I would ask if I may speak freely.”

Your guard goes up immediately. You nod. “Of course.”

He seems almost uncomfortable when he speaks again. “The king and queen were both worried that you might have left as a result of setting up your advised plan, since as King Byron mentioned earlier, you have experienced war first-hand. The latter was also to some degree concerned that you doing so was the reason for you leaving.

“If it’s something which causes you trouble, His and Her Highness would much rather you decline offering help in this matter, both with assisting in itself and in helping with small matters like this. We don’t want you to be uncomfortable for our sake.”

_They’re worried about me?_

You take a moment to let that sink in. Then, you shake your head; you set up the map completely, so as long as you pretty much avoid thinking about the revolution and are wary about whatever conversations you participate in, you should be fine.

“Admittedly, I still have some issues with my memories of our revolution in Vinessia, and that was the reason for me leaving so suddenly. However, the plan of attack I would recommend was finished by the time I left, so there is no further need for me to use it except for explaining parts, which should be fine. It was just putting it together that caused me some mild discomfort. I’d still like to aid Wysteria, Stein and Lindera however I can, if King Byron and His and Her Highness will allow me to.”

He nods, eyes lighting up with what looks like admiration. “Of course. I’m sure they would be grateful to have you provide your knowledge and advice.”

You nod back, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Good.”

And so, assuring Xander and Tobias that you’re alright, you return to the room.

Upon entering, you observe that the map has been adjusted ever so slightly, but practically all of your plan is in the same formation. You wonder if they like it or not.

The three monarchs turn to you when you walk in, and you give a shallow bow. “I apologise for leaving so quickly earlier.”

The queen shakes her head, beaming at you. “Worry not, it’s fine! Please, have a seat.”

You do as she says and return to your seat from before, Xander and Tobias positioned behind you but closer than before. The King of Wysteria watches you, grinning away. “This plan is excellent, General ___! I never would have even considered using such a formation, but it’s truly ingenious.”

Your heart swells with warmth, relief and pride bursting in your chest. “Thank you. I’m glad it’s at least of some use to you.”

Alyn leans against the couch where the king and queen are, nodding approvingly. “It’s pretty good, I’ve got to admit. I think it’s our best bet.” He tilts his head a bit. “Although, how come you picked there to do it? What makes that border space better for an attack?”

You lean forward again, warding off any memories as much as possible while you point to the map.

“I chose it because this border space has the most useful geographical features that can be integrated into the attack itself, and in the plan for those who will assist should they be called upon. On one side of the border space is a hill which is on Stein’s side of the border, one that can’t be seen over from the place where the battle would take place.

“Quite simply, in the midst of battle, the hill acts as a means of preventing the enemy forces from escaping there, and their only other way of getting away would be through the forest on the opposite side.”

You run your finger over the location where the hill is, making a sweeping motion forward and then to the west. “And in the case of my forces, along with those of Laurelia and possibly Carallia if they make true on their agreements, they can remain in the hill a little back so as to not be seen, and when they’re needed, the hill can essentially be used to flush the enemy out and overwhelm them.”

Alyn narrows his eyes, but you can see fascination and curiosity burning in the crimson orbs. “How so?”

You manage a small grin; this is your favourite part of your construction of this plan. “Basically, should we be needed, the troops on the ground would alert us through a signal of some sort – be that a horn, a call, lighting a fire somewhere, it doesn’t matter – before then retreating back toward Stein. That would mean that the enemy forces would then either pursue the retreating forces, thinking they’ve won, or they would simply remain in place out of not knowing what to do, or waiting for more orders.”

You remove three of the infantry pieces to place them on the table, off the map. Everyone in the room watches as you set down one piece to be retreating, the second pursuing them, with the third out of the way to south.

“So, say the troops are chased by the enemy, and they’re mostly focused on that. The troops on the ground will try to move as fast as they can – possibly assisted by a barrage of arrows to delay the pursuit for a few seconds – and in the process they’ll essentially separate the friendly forces from the enemy ones.”

You move the southern piece forward and have it fall in behind the second, finishing, “Giving the additional troops, most of whom could be on horseback, even though I detest bringing animals into wars, the chance to ambush the enemy from behind and take them by surprise.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Then, a slow, genuine smile spreads across Alyn’s lips. “That’s pretty clever. I’m not one for retreating unless it’s absolutely necessary, but that’s actually an effective tactic. It’s going to cause some problems, obviously, but I think by the point of us doing this, we’ll already be in a bad position anyway.”

Byron nods now, having been silent up until this point. “I agree. While it’s a rather unorthodox tactic, it’s not something that they will anticipate if used correctly. And as for the formation in itself, I can’t find many faults in it, and certainly none that can’t be altered.”

You heart soars in your chest, an unfamiliar sensation tingling through you. But in a way… it is familiar. “Thank you.”

For the next hour or so, you make some adjustments to the map while working with both Albert, Nico and Alyn, as well as Byron and Giles. Finally, the setup is something that they’re all satisfied with and have faith in.

“And now,” Byron sighs out, looking somewhat tired. “All we can do is wait for Protea to make its next move.”

You nod mutely, feeling tired again yourself. You slept better last night, albeit you’re feeling embarrassed about the fact that you must have fallen asleep on Byron and he must have put you in bed. You only woke up once with four nightmares you remember. You probably got five hours’ sleep, which is pretty good for you.

“Thank you very much, General ___. Your advice and this plan will no doubt be essential to the success of the battle, should it end up happening. We can’t express our gratitude enough.” The King of Wysteria says gratefully, giving you a warm smile across the room. You incline your head, feeling proud and glad to have been of help. The better a war goes, the less damage is done to the knights and civilians involved.

“Of course. If I can be of any more help, let me know.” You reply, earning a grin from him.

“I would like to express my thanks as well. With this strategy, I am very confident that we will win this war, should it come to happen, even despite the strength of Protea and its allies. We’re grateful for your assistance with this.” Byron joins in now, his voice somehow kinder than usual, almost gentle and very much appreciative.

It takes all of your willpower not to think about last night, and about the fact that the man across the room is the one you love, as well as the one who loves you.

“I’m glad. If there’s anything else I or Vinessia can do to be of assistance, please don’t hesitate to contact us.” Your response is met with a nod and a small smile, to which you smile back. You then glance up at the clock, seeing that it’s one in the afternoon. “I suppose we should make our way home. I imagine the nobilities might be getting a little bit restless.”

Byron stands up, keeping his eyes on you. “I agree. However, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to have a word with you before we leave. I have something I’d like to discuss in private.”

Your chest tightens, heartbeat skipping. He wants to talk, in private? Yesterday, you wouldn’t have thought anything of doing such a thing, but now…

This man is your… your… well, you don’t know quite what he is to you.

“Of course.” You stand up, turning to Xander and Tobias. “Can you gather everyone together and make sure we’re ready to leave? I’ll meet you both near the front gates when I’m finished.”

Tobias scowls, looking miffed. Xander’s brows furrow just slightly. “Are you sure?”

You nod, no doubt in your eyes nor your voice. “Yes. Thank you. I’ll see you both soon.” Turning to Byron, you incline your head respectfully. He does the same, glancing back at the King and Queen of Wysteria.

“Your Majesties, would it be alright for us to take a walk through the gardens while we discuss things?” He asks, tone calm and subdued. You’re certain you’re blushing, more so when the king sends Byron a warm, if marginally suggestive grin, the queen beaming at you with an almost teasing look in her eyes.

“Of course. Feel free to take your time; we have no issue with you staying here. The facilities of the palace are yours to use.” Byron nods again.

“Thank you. I appreciate your hospitality.” He turns to you now, something foreign glittering dimly, almost non-existent, in his eye. “Shall we?”

You can only nod mutely, internally drowning in mortification, excitement, confusion and a very odd sense of extreme joy. He takes a brief moment to watch you, gaze remaining trained on your face. Just as you start to panic, thinking that he’s acting completely abnormally and uncharacteristic of himself, he spins on his heels and makes his way to the door. As Albert and Nico step forward to fall in behind him, he flashes them a look over his shoulder.

“Do as Sir Tobias and Sir Xander are doing. Prepare our party for departure. I will come to the gates when I’m done.” They both look almost horrified at the prospect of letting him go alone, but he takes no notice or apparently doesn’t care, simply looking forward and heading to the door. He goes out, and you bow respectfully before tailing him out.

The walk is silent. Your footsteps are out of time at first, but then they synchronise after a few seconds, steady and calm and controlled. You observe how, when he walks around anyone else, as far as you’ve seen, he stays at his own pace. He’s usually ahead of everyone else, and a good distance from them as well.

But now… he walks right next to you, barely three inches away, and matches your pace.

Your cheeks heat up. You try to move your head so they’ll be hidden behind your hair.

Once you both reach the gardens, still completely silent, Byron makes his way into the maze of hedges and bushes, seemingly knowing exactly where to go. You follow him almost without thinking and doubting it, trusting him to have reason for this, and to not be doing it with malicious intention.

Finally, he stops. All around you, there are just hedges, and from the lack of sound all around you, you’re both alone. This spot is secluded, like it’s cut off from the palace and the rest of the world. Even looking up, you can’t see any of the palace except for the towers because of the hedges, and under the topiary arch, anyone would become invisible.

“… General ___.”

You fight back the urge to jump at the sound of your name. He’s watching you again, having turned to face you now, a fair distance away from you. Attempting to stay composed, you wipe your expression blank and respond. “Yes?”

He narrows his eye. A mixture of fear, apprehension and excitement shoots through you.

“I assume I’m the reason you left the room.”

_What?_

You can’t hold back your look of mild surprise. A glint of disapproval seems to simmer in his eye, even though you can see him fighting hard to suppress it. “So I was correct. I didn’t even consider what it would do to you, assisting with the battle plan. Am I also correct to assume that you had some sort of emotional or mental attack after you left?”

You can’t bring yourself to answer. Shame, regret and embarrassment swallow your mind whole. You’re not just going to tell him what happened; it’s unimportant, and would add another potential problem to his already-full plethora of issues to deal with. “You’re incorrect. It wasn’t anything like that. I simply left to think through the plan.”

Something seems to snap through his eye. You’re almost certain it’s pain.

It’s a pain he’s never felt before. It’s unbearable.

“I thought we agreed not to lie to each other.” Your heart sinks, chest tightening again. You frown, watching him take a step toward you. “I will not be leaving here until I know your reason for leaving. The real reason.”

Somehow, you believe that. And you would also believe that he’d keep you here until you told him what happened.

You divert your eyes, not wanting to see his face when you speak the words. It nearly hurts to get the words out, but you keep your expression empty while you force them forward. “I had a flashback and had to take a few minutes to deal with it. It passed, and it’s over now. It’s not exactly something I’d expect you to be thinking about; this is war we’re dealing with, so I’m glad your attention was on the best way to protect your people rather than m-”

You can’t finish your sentence, because he suddenly lurches toward you, stepping in close in a mere second. Instincts kicking in with your brief panic, you move back, feeling the brush of the hedge behind you. He pursues you, moving up to be inches away. Then, his hand rises up to place itself on your cheek, warm and gentle through his gloves. “You’re a cruel woman.”

Your eyes go wide, mind sent into stunned silence by his words. There’s a stabbing sensation in your gut, along with a confused nervousness. “What do you mean?”

He brings his other hand up, letting it rest on the opposite side of your face to the one his first hand is on, against the hedge’s branches. Your skin flushes, breathing speeding up at the proximity and intimacy of the situation.

_Wait, what if someone sees this? There’ll be diplomatic turmoil! We can’t do this here and now!_

“Someone will see us.” You protest, pulling your head back a bit, trying to get out of his hold. It’s not that you want to, of course, but rather that you don’t want to ruin everything you’ve worked for because of something stupid like this.

He frowns just a little, just enough for you to see his eyebrows move. “I don’t understand you at all, General __.” He glances up, then around the both of you. “No one will come here. All of our nobilities are being gathered, and the Wysterian ones have all either returned to their permanent residences or are inside the palace. Giles informed me earlier that they have much to do considering everything going on.”

He raises his eyebrow now. “That aside, I’d like you to tell me something.”

You nod slowly, trying not to hyperventilate at the way he’s still holding your face so tenderly. “Alright.”

“Why do you still insist on bearing all of your burdens alone? I am aware that it was only last night that we became aware of each other’s stances on this, but I thought that you might trust me more now that you know. From what I know of romantic relationships, people become closer once they reveal their feelings to one another. Am I correct?” You can only stare up at him for a second, baffled.

This is unlike him. This is out of the ordinary. It feels wrong.

It feels like he’s panicking, or worrying over something.

“Byron, what’s wrong?”

He goes completely still. For a long few seconds, his gaze is locked with yours, empty and cold, almost painfully flat. His hand drops from your face. For a few heartbeats, neither of you speak. You watch him, analysing, measuring his emotions. You can almost feel that he’s uncomfortable and being hurt by something, but you don’t know what. To anyone else, they’d see him and think he’s absolutely emotionless. To anyone else, they’d see no humanity in him.

But looking at him right now, you’ve never seen him so human before.

You don’t even think. Your hand comes up, cupping his cheek lightly, touch barely there. There’s mild surprise in his eye as you do, but you don’t pull away, and neither does he. You instead murmur softly, “Byron, tell me what’s wrong. I may have only known you for maybe seven months, but I know this isn’t like you. Something’s off. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

You’ve got him.

He can’t do it.

He’s tried, he’s tried so _damn hard_ to make you happy and ease things for you where possible. He’s probably the only person outside of Vinessia to know your past, and yet, he’s almost taken that privilege and destroyed it. He asked something of you without even thinking, and straight away, in that same second, he saw the despair in your eyes. He saw the sadness in those deep orbs, saw the pain and suffering lurking deep, even though you tried to hide it.

When you left, he realised something terrifying.

One or both of you are more than likely to die in the coming weeks, meaning you have maybe a day or two to see each other before everything goes to hell, should the crisis talks fall through. Two days maximum to spend with you, to have that feeling of wholeness again, to have his queen in his arms and to be able to let his feelings in for the first time in his life. He wants it all so badly, wants the human life that he’s always been tugged away from.

He wants to feel this love stronger and stronger, more and more, and he wants it now.

He wants the chance to love you before he loses you.

And yet, here you are, hurt by him. Here you are, going off to deal with something that’s no doubt agonising to go through, suffering on your own, even if Xander and Tobias were with you.

He’s constrained by time, but also by himself, and he hates it. He loathes it.

“Byron.” You murmur his name softly, barely able to be heard even in the silent gardens. Your gloved hand is cool against his skin, but it’s still comforting to him, to have that contact. He never knew it would feel like this, never dreamed that he could become addicted to having another person close to him so fast. He never thought he’d ache and desire to touch you so desperately, never thought a fleeting period of love and humanity would be this painful. “Tell me.”

“I’ve never been afraid before. Not like this, not remotely, not even fractionally.” His answer is very quiet, very hushed and low. He sees pain flash through your eyes for a second. “I don’t understand. Why do I feel like this?”

A tiny, tiny, sad smile graces your lips. Your thumb brushes across his cheekbone. “Because you care.” A frown slips onto his face, eye narrowing. “When you care, you worry. And when you worry, you open yourself up to fear. You’re afraid because you don’t want to lose the thing you care about, and when it comes down to it, it’s not something you can control. It’s human nature to fear loss, because once we lose something, we usually can’t get it back.”

His frown deepens slightly. “It’s normal to feel this way?”

Your smile widens just a little, but it’s kind. It’s not mocking or cruel. “Yes. Fear, if used properly, can help us. It keeps us alive when we’re in danger. This sort of fear, I’ll admit, is difficult to use. Some people cling to it in order to make decisions, others try to not let it influence their choices while still feeling it, and others block it out. They ignore it completely.”

The frown lessens, but his eyes are still intense and completely fixated on yours. There’s a war raging in his gaze, and you can almost feel the inner conflict he’s suffering with. He moves just a bit closer, so that there’s about an inch of space between you both. Your hand lowers itself from his face, but before it can rest at your side, he catches it in his own, holding it firmly but gently. You still in surprise, taken aback by how he seems desperate for your touch.

Truth be told, you’re just the same. You want nothing more than to be in his arms, to experience kissing someone for the first time with him, to be close to him and have him hold you.

But neither of you are willing to say so.

“And what do you do with your fear?” His question is spoken lowly, cautiousness creeping into his tone. He’s trying so hard to keep these foreign feelings in check; he can barely concentrate on his words.

Your fingers tighten around his for the briefest of seconds. Then, you move your hand gradually, twisting it so that it’s flat against his, almost testing and playing with the action. He doesn't protest, so you lightly push your fingers between his, twining them together. He’s taken aback himself by you doing such a thing, having thought you wouldn’t want to do things like this, but he’s not unhappy about it. If anything, he’s glad, because it gives him confidence that he might be safe to try something bolder.

His fingers close around yours. The warmth of your skin through the gloves settles his erratic emotions, helping him to get a grip on himself. He unconsciously tightens his hold, to which he feels you squeeze his fingers before answering, your voice almost unnervingly calm and matter-of-fact.

“I make a weapon out of fear.” Something about the way you say it, something in your voice that’s so sure and strong, not at all weak or _afraid_ , sends a shiver rattling down Byron’s spine. The resolve in your eyes is clear and unmistakeable, and it draws him in, captivating him entirely.

“I take everything I’m afraid of, tell myself what’s going to happen if that fear wins, and think of how much I’ll punish myself if I’ll fail. I use the fear to keep myself going. I use it ensure my victory, because failure is the most terrifying thing in the world to me.”

Something in your body language shifts now, something changes ever so slightly. Something more sure, something stronger and more confident…

God, all he wants to do is kiss you.

And all you want to is kiss him.

You won’t let the fear stop you. Not now, not when you’ve got a mere day or two left to see him before the war could start.

“Byron,” You murmur, your grasp on his hand tightening a little. “We’ve only got a day or two left where we can see each other, before the war happens, if it’s going to.” He nods. “Can I be selfish and ask something of you now, while I can?” Another nod.

You let out a breath, both sure and unsure about this. You’re nervous, worried, absolutely scared and panicking a healthy amount. But… at the same time you’re excited, and so in need of this, wanting his touch, wanting to have this at least once before you march off to a possible death on the battlefield.

Your gaze drops to his chest; you can’t hold his deep, smouldering stare while you say something like this.

“I… I want to know what it’s like. To…” You lose the will to speak the words, nerves overtaking you. You do your best to push them back, doing exactly as you just said and threatening yourself with the thought of what will happen if you back out now. “Kiss someone.”

It’s quiet for a long, few, agonising seconds.

Byron smiles.

_So she feels the same way._

Admittedly, he’s uncharacteristically relieved by this. Normally, he’d be fine with waiting and doing things like this slowly, as moments present themselves. He’d prefer that. He’d prefer to let things happen naturally, to not push anything between the two of you, but it’s just not possible.

If he does that, he risks the chance of going to war without having ever experienced things like this with someone he loves. He’d be risking the opportunity to experience humanity in its finest, most confusing form for the first time, and with the one person in the world he truly cares about.

He’d die with regrets. He will not do that to himself.

“As you wish.”

The relief is almost painful for you.

However, before either of you can do anything, he lightly tugs you to the side, standing both of you under the topiary arch. Your heart flutters in your chest; even now, he’s keeping both of you safe, not risking any further problems that could be caused by someone finding out about the two of you. He guides you under, close to one side, and you realise that you’re completely invisible now, even from the towers of the castle.

You’re completely and utterly alone with him.

You’re quite sure you might just be blushing again. He watches you closely, seeing your eyes still on his chest. His smile widens ever so slightly, but it’s more out of fascination; he loves studying you, seeing your emotions, witnessing the beauty that is you letting your feelings show. He could spend eternity doing it, and he’d never get bored.

Your hand tightens around his. He squeezes back gently.

You let out a breath, bolstering your courage. You tentatively place a hand on his chest, leaning up to him, still not meeting his gaze. It’s at this point that he decides to assist you, letting go of your hand to slide it around your waist, pulling you against him. He sees your blush darken marginally, something that draws out a satisfied smile from him. He lowers his face, other hand coming up cradle your head.

Your eyes close first. His follow after.

Words can’t describe the sensation that erupts within you both when your lips meet. It’s such a simple touch, merely a gentle pressure, but it speaks volumes. It’s like you’re both consumed by fire while completely cool at the same time, heat flowing through your bodies. Your free hand rises up to grip his jacket, not enough to rumple it, but enough for you to pull him impossibly closer. You feel your stomach touching his, a sensation that sends shudders rattling through you.

He’s never felt anything like this before. This feeling of complete bliss, of contentment and finally not being alone… it’s so foreign, so strange, but it’s so wonderful. He never wants to let you go. He wants to have this, more and more, deeper and stronger.

After a few seconds, you have to pull back, separating from him for a second to catch your breath. You’re almost dizzy from just one kiss, so overwhelmed by unknown emotions and sensations, but it’s a good feeling. Your eyes remain closed as you lower your head, trying to take a moment to calm yourself. Byron simply waits patiently, running his hand over your hair, then cupping your warm cheek.

“Thank you.” You manage to get the words out, hands still on his chest. He nods, responding quietly but still kindly.

“You truly are strange. You needn’t thank me.” His lips twitch up into an almost non-existent smirk. “Especially for something that I enjoyed so thoroughly.”

Your skin, already warm, now becomes much hotter, and a look of mild embarrassment crosses your face. There’s a tiny little smile tugging at your mouth, though, despite how hard you’re trying to hide it. You drop your head against his chest, feeling very oddly shy, and the action sends Byron’s heart thudding away.

_She’s rather adorable like this. It’s so different to her normal, composed self. I think I quite like this side of her._

He curls his arm tighter around your waist, keeping his hand against your hair. He turns to look up at the sky while he embraces you, feeling you hold onto his jacket lightly. Your capes flutter together in the breeze, concealing the way you’re touching each other. He stares up at the clouds, for the most part small and light, from the side of the topiary arch.

It’s so quiet. He wants nothing more than to spend time like this, with you safe in his arms.

Eventually, though, you lift your head up with a sigh, breathing out, “I imagine my knights are becoming restless. They no doubt want to go home.”

He glances down at you, taking in your look of mild remorse. He nods, smiling just a bit at the remnants of your blush still visible in your cheeks. “I’m sure mine are the same.”

It’s silent once more. Your eyes meet his, and it’s like you exchange a thousand words just from the one look. Your heartbeat picks up just a little at the intensity of his gaze, and likewise, something in his chest tightens at the sight of your now calm expression. There’s something in your eyes, something longing and lonely, almost. You can see it in him, even in just one eye. He’s just like you.

_I don’t want to let you go._

The thought is unanimous.

Your faces come closer again, more surely now, less restrained. The fear is gone. As your mouth hovers millimetres from his, as his fingers thread through your hair to tip your hair back, there’s nothing but love in your eyes, reflected in his, mixed with adoration and care and kindness.

_Thank you._

The thought thrums through you, lips pressed against his. Your eyes close, grip on his jacket tightening just slightly. He sighs contentedly into the kiss, basking in your warmth against him, in the security and joy he feels at the feeling of you in his arms, in the knowledge that you love him for who he is.

He loves that, despite how much he doesn’t understand human hearts and emotions, you still care for him and treat him no differently. He loves that you can teach him and make him understand things. He loves that you’ll open up to him, that you’ve let him in despite the countless walls you’ve put up to protect yourself from the world.

He kisses you again, spurred on by his thoughts, but this time it’s deeper and more ardent. A soft breath escapes you, drawing a tiny little smile from him. You both move back until you are pressed up against the arch, encased in his grip, protected and cherished and safe. With anyone else, you’d be in pieces by now. You’d have already pushed them away and forced them back from you, wouldn’t have let them get remotely close like this.

But you want him here. You want to let him in. You want to trust him entirely.

Your hand comes up to cradle his face, fingers ghosting over his cheek with such a feather light tenderness that he can’t suppress a shiver. The other hand moves up, your arm looping around his neck and allowing you to pull yourself up, closer. For a moment, he’s surprised by this and how it sends molten heat scorching through him, but he swiftly comes to think that he doesn’t mind at all. He simply smiles against your mouth, kissing you again and again, leaving you weak and gripping onto his jacket for support.

Mere seconds pass, but it could be hours or days to you. You’re so entranced by him, enraptured by his kisses and his strength around you, his gentleness and love. He handles you just like he did when you danced at the ball; carefully, cautiously, but respectfully. He’s so kind, and yet you think he probably has no idea that he is.

_The knights._

Through your blissful haze, the thought murmurs through your brain.

_If only the world would let me have what I want, just once._

Your hand slides down to his shoulder, very lightly pushing against it, but he feels it and draws back from you. Opening your eyes, he does the same, and you can see the question in his eye. It makes you smile just slightly, feeling his fingers thread through your hair once more.

He wonders if he’s done something wrong.

“We need to go.” Your sighed explanation is met by his look of understanding, and he lets out a heavy breath himself before nodding. He leans down to press a last, long kiss to your forehead, the touch sending tingles through your limbs, before he lets go of you and steps back.

You both take a moment to make sure your hair and clothes aren’t messed up, and then you exhale slowly, remembering the situation in full. “Time’s against us. I want to make sure everything’s ready and that my people know what’s going on, before this possibly goes south.”

He nods, glancing up at the sky. “Indeed.”

Neither of you speak for a few seconds. You gaze up at the palace, emotions swirling in your eyes like the most complex of cocktails.

“___.” He finally breaks the silence, drawing your eyes back to him. He watches you for a heartbeat. “I want you to remember what I promised you. But, I’d also like you to promise something else.”

_What?_

You blink, surprised by his request. Nonetheless, you nod, staying quiet. He turns to face you properly. “Promise me that you will keep yourself safe. I know well enough by now that you will do whatever is necessary to protect those dear to you, but I want you to swear to protect your own life as well.”

_Byron…_

You can’t do that. You can try, but you can’t promise it. You were tipped over the edge too long ago, too many times, for you to be able to swear on the protection of your own life. You’ll always do what you can to survive, but if that means letting someone else die, you’d rather end it all yourself.

“I can’t promise that.” You reply, voice soft, but your words seem to echo in the quiet. Byron’s pupil widens slightly in shock, although he’s able to reign in his emotions immediately and rid his face of emotion quickly. “I’ll do my best to stay alive and safe, but if it’s between me and them, I’ll choose them. If it’s me and one of the Laurelian knights, or one of the Linderan knights, or the Carallian knights or a Steiner knight, I’ll always save them.”

You manage a small smile. “I can promise that I’ll do everything in my power to keep myself safe and to stay alive. I just can’t promise that I will always choose my own life over people who are important to me. That’s not something I’m capable of.”

His heart clenches uncomfortably.

_She’s so kind._

He hates the thought of it, but he knows you well enough to understand why you would do that. He can’t ask you to disregard others in dangerous situations, not after everything you’ve been through.

“Thank you.” He finally murmurs, strands of his hair drifting up in front of his eye.

Your face softens just a little, a tiny smile tugging at your lips. “I would ask that you promise me the same, Byron. I want you to swear to protect yourself as well.”

It’s in this second that he realises how ridiculous his request is.

If he were in battle, and it was between saving himself or Albert, or himself or Nico, or even himself and the other knights… he doesn’t think he could leave them. He doesn’t think at all that he could save himself over them.

So, he nods, watching your cape flutter around you in the breeze. “I can promise what you did. I cannot swear to always choosing myself over someone else, however.”

Somehow, you feel surprised at that. Maybe it’s because of your prejudice against royalty, maybe it’s just your low expectations, but you thought he would be able to promise to save himself. You didn’t think he would choose the same as you. Your heart twists inside you at the thought, mind whirling with emotions.

“Thank you.” Getting the feeling that if you stay, you’ll run back into his arms, you take a step back. Your speech reverts back into formal mode, helping you to suppress your urges more easily. “I should be going. I wish you luck with your preparations, and will see you at any crisis talks should they happen. If not, I will see you on the battlefield.” You give a shallow, respectful bow. “Goodbye, Byron.”

He returns the bow, responding quietly, “Hopefully we will meet again at any crisis talks, and not on the battlefield. Goodbye, ___.”

You’ve never struggled so much to turn around in your life, nor have you experienced such emotional pain just by walking away. Your heart aches. You want to go back to him, to be with him and cling to him, to let him kiss you again and stay by your side. It’s an awful, completely bizarre and foreign type of suffering, but that makes it all the more agonising.

He feels the same. It takes all of his control not to reach out and catch your arm, then swing you into his arms and kiss you over and over again. It’s all he wants, to have you there, to be holding the woman he loves and know that she’s safe in his arms.

A few minutes later, you’re back in the palace. Ten minutes pass, and then you’re off, riding back to Vinessia.

Byron remains in the gardens, listening to the sound of your group leaving the palace. He absently reaches out to touch a rose embedded within the topiary arch, smoothing his fingers across its petals.

Finally, he sighs, not looking to the side when he speaks. “Nico, Albert. Come out.”

He can practically feel Nico’s wince, and Albert’s panic. Still, the two emerge from the corner, looking as guilty as ever. Albert is the first to start talking, immediately throwing the blame at his younger companion. “Your Majesty, I deeply apologise. This brat wouldn’t listen to reason-”

"Al." Byron breathes out, voice mildly tired. “To be frank, I’m more concerned about how long you’ve both been there as opposed to why you disobeyed my orders.”

Albert shrinks back, physically recoiling at Byron’s tone. Nico answers before he can, eyes diverted to the ground. “We may have accidentally overheard, ah… you and General __...” Byron can feel him trying to suppress a smile. “Talking.”

At least it was them, of all people. They pose no threat.

“I see.” He drops his hand from the rose, turning to the two. “You will both be reprimanded properly when we return to Stein. For now, although I would think that I need not say it, this is to be kept to yourselves. It does not, under any circumstance, become known to anyone else. Am I understood?”

Albert places a hand over his heart and bows deeply, responding with remorse in his voice, “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Nico does the same, although he sounds marginally smug when he speaks. “Yes, King Byron.”

Byron can only narrow his eye, letting out a quiet breath. He glances up at the sky around the topiary arch, wondering if you’re looking up at it as well, heading back over to Vinessia. He notices absently that he has started to feel incomplete, like your presence was making him whole, but now that you’re gone he’s lost a part of himself again.

_Look at me. Who knew human emotions could be this strong?_

“Are the knights ready to leave?” He asks quietly, not looking at either of the two to his side.

“Yes, they are all ready and waiting, Your Majesty.” Albert responds, standing up straight. Nico does the same, expression now blank. Byron nods.

“Good.” He starts to make his way to the steps leading out of the garden, thoughts whirling back to how the next few weeks might possibly change the fate of everyone in the whole region, let alone any of the countries. “Let us go, then. We have much work to do.”


	10. Part X | Decision. Rumour. Missed. Broken.

**†** **♛** **†**

Three weeks pass.

Every nation in the region waits, for war, for peace, for a compromise, for _something_.

The armies of Stein, Vinessia, Wysteria, Laurelia and Lindera are all ready and waiting for the call to mobilise at any time. Their respective leaders remain calm and patient, expecting some sort of indication of a response from Protea. The declaration of war, although not fully triggered, was issued the day after the meeting, and so Protea should have made some sort of a choice by now.

Another three days tick over. It’s at this point that a decision is made.

The moment Xander steps into your office, face grave, holding a piece of parchment with the seal of Protea on it, you’re almost certain what is going to happen. You simply hold your hand out for it, saying nothing.

Byron is the exact same in Stein, face inexpressive as Albert hands him the message, scowling deeply.

In Laurelia, the king sighs sadly, shaking his head.

The King and Queen of Lindera nod to themselves, looking satisfied. Their daughter stands at the side, hands clenched into fists from nervousness.

The Queen of Carallia lets out a slow breath, closing her eyes for a moment. Then, she stares down at the envelope, sitting back against her throne heavily.

All of you are sent the exact same letter.

 

_“To the rulers of territories involved in the cultural exchange,_

_We have reached a decision regarding the incident several weeks ago, and the declaration of war issued to us by several of the nations involved. This message is being sent to all of the countries who were present at the meeting._

_We will not be holding peace negotiations to resolve this matter, nor will we be surrendering._

_We accept your declaration of war, as do our allies. Alder has already conformed that it will be fighting on our side._

_Further details will be arranged in the coming days for the sake of the citizens in all of the involved nations, and for that of trade agreements and such.”_

There’s a moment when all of the leaders stop, freezing in shock or surprise at the last line of the letter.

_“This declaration of war has been accepted by King Tristan Starrick, former Prime Minister of Protea, in place of the late King.”_

_The king… he’s…_

You were right. You have no doubt that the Prime Minister had something to do with this. Even if the king isn’t dead, and has just been run out of the country, it was almost certainly the Prime Minister’s work. For him to take his place on the throne just before the start of a war, triggered by an incident that was nearly guaranteed to have been orchestrated by the Protean nobility… it can’t be a coincidence.

Byron exhales slowly, feeling a mixture of emotions rising up in him. So, your predictions were correct. Most likely, the Prime Minister was behind all of this, and for some reason, is hell-bent on driving Protea straight into destruction. This complicates things, and means that this war has just become a lot more dangerous. Protea isn’t just out for power; it’s out, unknowingly, to complete its own execution, and it’s going to take down so many people from other nations in the process.

You put the letter back in the envelope, setting it down on the table.

_I’m going to war again._

Your throat tightens. You can feel the stares of the other people in the office, watching you closely, waiting for you to tell them what’s going on. You drop your face into your hands, taking a moment to breathe and attempt to settle your feelings.

_I don’t want to fight anymore._

You’ve seen enough. You’ve suffered enough. Why does this have to happen again? Yes, you could just send your knights off to fight and stay back yourself, but you never would.

You are their general. You lead your country’s army and are responsible for supporting them at all times. You would never be able to live with yourself, knowing you’ve had them march off to a war when, although the majority of the public agreed to helping Stein for the sake of the future, you made the final call.

Byron, for once, doesn’t know what to do.

Traditionally, kings would go to war with their troops and would often die on the battlefield. Over the centuries, this has decreased, with royals often commanding from behind the front lines in safety and trying to maintain security while the knights fight. Byron was half planning to do this, but another half of him was always shouting and calling to him that he should fight.

Not for pride, or ego, or credit, but because he should be fighting alongside the men who protect him. He should be with them, for all the things they’ve done for him in his life and all the times they’ve fought for him.

_I’m going to war._

He sets the letter down for a moment, thinking through it again and again. They shouldn’t encroach on decisions like this, but his personal feelings for you are also making themselves known, and loudly so. He can’t bear the thought of you fighting, of being in war and being surrounded by danger _again_ , while he sits by and spectates from the side-lines. It makes him sick to think about it.

_Times are changing. My grandfather fought in his own war. Perhaps I shall be the last to, now._

He puts the letter in the envelope, then files it away in the drawer of his desk.

When you’re more calm and collected, you remove your hands from your face and put the letter away, before turning around once more. You take in the faces of Xander, Tobias, Finn and Liv, all waiting silently but anxiously for you to speak. Ignoring the twisting in your stomach and the tightness of your chest, and trying desperately to avoid thinking about Byron’s position in all of this, you murmur the words you wished you would never have to say.

Meanwhile, in Stein, Byron’s mind conjures an image of your face, bloodied and lifeless on the battlefield, body encased in battered armour, unmoving and unbreathing. He feels physically nauseous, but he pushes it back before standing, staring intensely at Albert and Nico. Unbeknownst to him, his voice reverberates through the room deeply, delivering the exact same words as you in a grave tone.

“We’re going to war.”

**†** **♛** **†**

The following weeks are hard on all of the countries in the region.

The civilians in areas surrounding where the battle will be, successfully negotiated between Stein and Protea to be at the border you suggested, have been evacuated to safer areas. The armies on both sides use their time making as much weaponry, armour and tools as possible in preparation, and also use it for hammering their training so that the chances of someone being hurt will be as low as possible.

Your troops in particular are suffering under your strict training regimes, although they know it’s necessary for the sake of the region and its citizens. You do all of it with them, granted with ease due to your desensitisation to such hard labour, which helps them to get on with it themselves. They tend to end up grumbling a fair bit when you finish before all of them, though.

But if their general can do it, so can they.

“Down!” Your barked order echoes through the field around you. Your knights move into a push up, dropping their bodies close to the grass but never touching it. You wait for a long ten seconds, until you can see many of their arms shaking with the strain, before shouting, “Up!”

You repeat this for a long time, making sure they’re all strong enough to withstand both the pain of prolonged exertion and muscle use, as well as ensuring that they have the muscle power needed to be at least adequate in battle.

You walk along the front line of the knights, briefly passing by Xander and Tobias on the way. You hear Tobias chuckle darkly, and you immediately know what he’s going to do. He reaches out to briefly poke the back of your leg, as he’s done many a time to both yourself, and to Xander when you’ve not been there to lead the training sessions.

Your eyes snap to him. You stop, hardly in the mood for messing around considering the circumstances, before muttering, “Down for thirty seconds, Tobias. If I see you move up or hit the floor, you’re cleaning all the stables.”

He groans, but he’s grinning, evidently enjoying himself. You shake your head, continuing on as Xander sighs out a scolding to him and he gets on with the long push-up.

On the outside, you appear to be completely normal. On the inside, you’re in pieces.

You’re nervous. You’re absolutely terrified, dreading it all, completely not confident, desperate for a way out. You’re tired and malnourished and stressed out beyond belief. You’re getting a maximum of two to four hours’ sleep every night from nightmares and terrors.

You’re in the completely wrong state to go to war. The weight of doing this, of sending troops off to die when they’re completely aware of this, and of being the one to give the orders, is suffocating. You want nothing more than for Protea to call it off and surrender, or to propose last-minute crisis talks and prevent this from going through.

You know their Prime Minister well, though. He won’t stop now.

You pace slowly in front of the knights, carrying on with their training without letting them see your turmoil. You watch the sunset absently, glancing at them every few seconds, repeating the two words over and over again. When it’s done, you release them to let them have a break, hearing the sighs of relief all around you in response.

You’re all on one of the hills in Vinessia which overlook the main embodiment of the country, including the towns and castle. You like to train here, and have the knights do the same, since it’s away from distractions and gives them a way to remember what they’re training to protect at all times. The wind is somewhat harsh from the mountains and the way they change the air patterns, but you’re alright in your cloak. You imagine the exercise is warding off the reality of the temperature for your knights.

You sit down at the edge of the hill, at the tallest part, before closing your eyes.

_I want to see Byron. I want to run to him and never let him go. I want to be happy. I don’t want to go to war._

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around your legs. You’re not particularly concerned about anyone seeing you like this; you’ll often sit this way, even when you’re feeling fine, and you have nothing to hide from your people.

You can feel Xander and Tobias watching you, along with at least a few of the others. You ignore them, getting lost in your thoughts.

_If I end up dying, I’m sure Byron will be able to readjust. I don’t think he’s really that deeply in love with me._

A lump forms in your throat. An aching pain swells in your chest, a sense of suffocating, unbearable loneliness bearing down on your mind.

_If he dies… God only knows what’ll happen to me. I don’t think I can cope with losing anyone else. My mental state is hardly strong enough for having someone dear ripped away from me again._

You hear the whispers coming from some of the knights, murmuring about the pressure on you coming from all sides and how intense it must be to deal with. Among those, one conversation stands out and catches your attention, your eyes snapping open in response.

“It’s not fair that all of this has happened now, when ___ and King Byron are getting along so well.”

“What are you talking about? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Are you kidding? Haven’t you seen how different Byron is around ___? He’s emotionless around everyone else, but the other week at the meeting, he was talking to her loads and walked to the ice with her, and smiled a lot when he was talking to her as well. You can see it easily that he likes her.”

You freeze, nails digging into your arms.

“You’re joking. Byron? He’s not interested in anything like that. I think you’re seeing things.”

“I’m not! Seriously, just look at him if we get to see him before the war starts. Anytime he’s around her, he’s completely different! The changes are tiny, but with someone like him, it says so much!”

_How in hell…_

Your chest tightens, heartbeat picking up.

_People are noticing already?_

A new voice cuts in now, adding, “I noticed that, too! At first I thought it was really shady the way he looked at her, but now I’m thinking about it, it really seems as though he likes her! I’ve been there a few times when they’ve talked, and they seem really respectful, but not in a way that’s cold or anything. They act like friends.”

_Enough._

Your defensive mind snaps the word at your emotions. You jerk up to your feet without thinking, whipping around and swiftly finding the three who were talking. Your eyes narrow.

“I would suggest you keep your speculations about idiotic things like that to yourself and focus on the fact that we are going to war soon. Get your priorities straight; this is hardly the time to be losing focus.” You glance around the knights, seeing that they have all stopped what they were doing and some had started to listen to the three. “Break’s over. Three laps around the perimeter of the hill, now. Go. Cut corners and you’ll regret it.”

They sprint away from you swiftly.

Xander and Tobias remain, though, studying you intensely. A scowl slips onto your face, insides reeling with panic and anger. “Need I repeat myself? You’re both included. Get running.”

Xander frowns. “___, they’re wrong, aren’t they? You couldn’t possibly-”

“Xander.” You cut him off, not wanting this to go any further at all. “They’re being ridiculous. You know how I feel about royalty. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Tobias mirrors your expression, stepping closer. “But he does look at you weirdly. He does seem different around you, and significantly so from the Byron we know from rumour to be emotionally stunted. Has he said something to you?” He shakes his head. “It makes no sense, especially after he hurt you when we stayed over in Stein.”

You stay silent for a long few seconds, giving him a look that says he’s testing his luck far too much. Finally, you speak, voice low and completely serious.

“I will say this once.” You step closer to them both. When the words come out, it’s like having acid poured through your heart and knives thrown into you. “He hasn’t said anything. We have a diplomatic relationship, and one which has been developing quickly lately, but that’s the extent of it. We respect each other and our countries, and want them to prosper, so we are co-operating well in order to achieve that.”

You let out a breath. “He is a king, and an ally. Nothing more.” Your stare hardens again, turning into a full-force glare. “Now, I will not tell you both again. Go.”

Although reluctantly, they eventually move back, watching you with conflicted eyes. With a scoff from Tobias and a look of worry from Xander, they both take off after the others, leaving you alone atop the hill.

_Unbelievable._

You turn to look down at the town again, feeling a stab of guilt for being so harsh.

_I can’t tell them. Neither of us will ever be able to._

Gaze rolling up to the sky, you wonder if Byron’s looking up at it as well, and how he’s doing. You hope he’s ready to fight, and will stay safe in battle.

_But maybe we won’t have to. They already know too much, even though they know absolutely nothing._

**†** **♛** **†**

Byron has never been unable to sleep before.

But since the declaration of war, and since he’s known you’ll probably be fighting in it, he hasn’t had a proper nights’ sleep.

He lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He almost doesn’t want to try to sleep now, because every night without fail, he’s either been unable to drift off until the early hours, or has suffered with night terrors that have, to say the least, shaken him. He recalls the previous night’s one, one that left him shaking and sweating upon waking up.

**†** **♛** **†**

_He stands among a sea of bodies. The ground is crimson. Arrows, swords, knives, axes and burns litter the deceased or dying, screams and moans of pain filling the air. He’s frozen, stuck on the spot, with horror. His knights call out to him, begging him to get away and to get to safety. Those still locked in battle all around him scream, blatantly shouting at him to escape while he can._

_He watches, unmoving, as one is bludgeoned to death before him._

_This is hell._

_He’s swift to turn, though, when he hears your voice._

_He whips around, seeing you blurring with movement, arcing your sword around with marvellous precision, deflecting the blows of the three enemy knights converging on you all at once. Your face and clothes are painted with blood, perhaps your own, perhaps not, and your face is set with grim determination._

_You throw yourself back from a swing before darting forward, and he sees the blade on your free wrist shoot out, burying itself in his chest, angled to pierce his heart directly. One of the other knights lurches at your back, raising his sword up._

_Real, piercing fear, so deep and gut-wrenching that it makes him feel sick, explodes in him. He yells out your name, lunging toward you._

_But you only yank yourself around, spinning the knight around you’ve stabbed so he’s between you and the advancing knight, just as he reaches you both._

_His sword drives itself through his comrade’s stomach. His face contorts with mortification, a choked scream escaping his throat. It’s cut off, though, as raise your sword up once more, burying it in his throat, your wrist’s blade still embedded in the first knight’s heart. He sees your mouth move, but he doesn’t hear the words. He can only watch them form on your lips over the sounds of battle._

_“I’m sorry for this. Rest in peace.”_

_Your weapons are yanked out of the two knights. You step back, and they both collapse to the floor, soaked with blood. Your head moves, eyes slowly rotating around. They finally meet Byron’s, and he almost passes out with relief._

_She’s safe-_

_Neither of you see the third knight run at you from behind, bringing his sword up. Byron’s mind descends into a mix of such strong emotions that he can’t process anything. Fear, panic, loss, dread, fury… it’s too much to cope with, too much to feel all at once._

_You jerk around, eyes wide with shock. Your expression gives way to fear, just for a fraction of a second, before the sound of metal slicing skin rips through the air. Your body jolts back, his blade cutting where your neck is. Byron can’t see if he missed or not, but he soon doesn’t need to. Blood starts to pool on the floor at your feet, sprays of it spurting out every few seconds._

_No._

_You collapse to your knees, hands coming up to your throat._

____..._

_He doesn’t even notice an arrow shoot through the air, embedding itself in the knight’s head, right in his temple._

_“___!” He all but roars, body and mind in turmoil. He sprints through the chaos, over bodies and dying knights and fighting survivors, heading straight for you. There’s no consideration for his own life now. He’s so sickened, so disgusted with this, and with himself, that he doesn’t care in the slightest. He froze up. He could have stopped this._

_He’s the reason you’re going to die._

_He reaches you and drops to his knees, pulling you into his arms. You fall against him, expression set in agony and suffering. Your throat is sliced open and pouring with warm blood, coating your clothes and hands, dripping from you everywhere. Byron cradles you against his chest, staring down at you, mind unable to do anything._

_What can he do? There’s no way to fix this. You can’t survive._

_There’s a choked, garbled sound from you, a sound that vaguely sounds like his name. He strokes the hair back from your face, matted with blood, and focuses on your eyes. They stare back at his, focus fading way swiftly._

_He swallows thickly, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of his throat closing up and eyes becoming moist. Confused and distraught, he can only hold you, cradling your head and brushing his thumb across your cheekbone. You cough weakly, blood dripping over your lips when you move your head slightly._

_“___... I… I’m so…” His words trail off into silence amongst the death all around him. You manage a tiny, tiny little smile, hand rising up to weakly cup his face. He can feel you trying to pull him down, still choking and almost gone now, and he lowers his head despite the tears now flowing down his cheeks._

_He feels nothing when your lips press against his. The coppery smell and taste of blood almost suffocate him. How could he? How could he, when you’re about to die and it’s his fault?_

_You go still, mouth still pressed to his. Your head tips back, eyes shutting, warm blood still leaving your throat. Your body goes limp, hand dropping to the ground._

_My queen…_

_The loss, the pain, the devastation, is overwhelming. A broken, agonised sob escapes him for the first time in his life. He pulls you closer, burying his face in your shoulder. He muffles his quiet cries in your damp clothes, wishing for this to end, wishing for someone to come and kill him. He hopes that he’ll die so he won’t have to spend a day knowing that you died because of him._

_She’s never coming back._

_All of a sudden, everything around him fades away. The world shifts into a white oblivion, empty and silence and devoid of anything other than you and him. Your blood paints the blankness, marking it with death and agony._

_No one’s coming to kill me._

_For the first time in his life, Byron loses himself. His composure, his strength, his ability to stay calm… it all disappears. He breaks down._

_And when he does, all he can do is scream._

**†** **♛** **†**

Byron lets out a slow, deep breath.

_I’ve never wanted someone with me so desperately before._

He wants you in his arms. He wants to hold you and have you there, to know you’re safe and alive. He wants nothing but for the war to be called off somehow, so that he knows you won’t be fighting and won’t have any chance of being killed through war. He’s so tempted, so goddamn close to just getting up and riding out to Vinessia just to see you, but he can’t. It would be too obvious and too dangerous, and it would be too much of a risk to the secret.

No one can know about you both. Not yet, at least, if ever.

He rolls over to lie on his stomach instead, turning his head to face the windows. He always leaves the curtains of the window closest to the wall open, so that he can gaze out at the stars of a night. His eyes, both uncovered since he’s alone and it’s night-time, twinkle in the light of the moon, dim but still there.

____..._

He sighs softly, chest aching. Face resting against his forearm, he remembers again what it felt like to have you held against him that day when you fell asleep, and when he kissed you. He tries to use it, to make himself relax and fall into sleep faster, but it does little to settle the loneliness choking him.

_I miss you._

**†** **♛** **†**

Time passes by too quickly. Soon, it’s almost time for the battle.

In two days, war will break out. However, because of the nature of this war, it won’t be one that will go on for days or weeks or months; it’s an all-or-nothing war that will start and end with one battle. While the likes of Stein and Protea have many knights, their numbers still mean that it will most likely only last for a day and a half, especially since there’s significantly more knights on Stein’s side as opposed to Protea’s.

This is only bettered when, out of the blue, one of Protea’s allies pulls out of the war, claiming that it doesn’t benefit from participating enough to warrant even staying involved. Most likely, it realised that the odds were stacked against Protea’s side and pulled out before it got roped in too deeply.

The political tension practically explodes after that, and Protea descends into a huge, diplomatic crisis with its neighbour over the sudden abandonment and betrayal of promises.

But that doesn’t mean you and Byron are feeling particularly happier.

After learning that the country has backed out, you realise that you need to adjust the plan, since Stein had been prepared to focus half of its troops on the said nation’s forces. Now, they can be distributed elsewhere, and you don’t trust sending such sensitive messages through Spinner.

So, you decide to go to Stein yourself, donning your cloak and cape to keep your identity protected. You go before Xander and Tobias can follow after you, telling the others that taking people out of your country for something trivial will only create unease and distrust in the people. You make sure to alert the public, though, and explain to them that you’re going to finalise the plans with Stein but should be back for the next day at the latest.

You’re on alert while you ride through the forests, then the more mountainous areas of the country, and finally into Stein. By the time you arrive there, because of how big your own nation is and the distance between your castle and the border, it’s evening, with the dusk in full swing. As such, it’s a huge risk to do this, of course. You’re completely aware of that; if you were to be killed now, it would shatter your knights’ confidence and morale, potentially shifting the balance of the whole war.

But this needs to be done. Not telling them about the formation change could be disastrous in itself.

You’re stopped at the border of Stein, where the knights ask for identification. You show them your papers and the relevant documentation, and they let you through since you’ve apparently been listed as someone who has permission to enter and leave Stein freely. You absently wonder when that happened.

You’re escorted into and through Stein by a group of knights, who while wary of you, speak respectfully. You keep your hood up, as they advise you to so as to not create tension amongst the public, but it’s not long before you see the castle. There’s more clearance processes, which you’re almost glad for, since you know Wysteria’s security at least isn’t the best and this is not the time to be lazy with it.

Upon entering the castle, you’re met by Albert, who is stood in the middle of the grand entrance. “General ___, I’ve been informed of your reason for coming here today. His Majesty has been notified as well, and will be available to speak to you in a short while. While we would usually be…”

He nudges his glasses up, frowning slightly. “Less than pleased to have a surprise visit from a nation with whom we have no formal alliance, despite having set up agreements and such, we fully appreciate the importance of you coming here. We’re grateful for you taking the time and effort to discuss this change with us.”

You’re certain there’s blood rushing to his cheeks. Nevertheless, you nod, giving a shallow, respectful bow. “Of course. I apologise for coming so suddenly, and not giving warning beforehand. I thought it to be to some degree pointless, considering the urgency of the situation. Regardless, I appreciate and am grateful for your understanding, even if our knights are not going to be in battle for certain.”

He returns the nod, then mirrors your bow before stepping back. “If you will follow me.”

You do as he says, walking alongside him in silence. He doesn’t talk, and neither do you. He escorts you through the castle, your hood now down, and you see surprise on the faces of the Steiner bureaucrats who see you. Some become suspicious, some sneer, others look confused, and the odd one or two send you subtle smiles or approving nods.

_Humph. They’re certainly a divided nobility._

You’re taken to a room to wait in, one that’s lavish and decorated beautifully, the colour scheme revolving around indigo, white and gold. You’re alone in the room once Albert departs, but it doesn’t exactly bother you. You’re not relaxed, of course, but you’re not particularly uncomfortable. That’s impressive, all things considered.

At some point, Nico comes in, and he beams upon seeing you sat on one of the couches. “General ___, thank you for coming to inform us about this change. We appreciate it greatly.”

You give him a nod and a small smile, replying coolly, “Of course. Nothing good would have come from leaving the formation as it is, considering how the circumstances have changed.”

He nods fiercely, eyes burning with the sort of youthful, to some degree innocent, fire that you remember having when you were little. It makes you sort of sad, thinking about how many times that fire was drowned by Stefan, and how it well and truly ebbed away before you managed to leave.

“Well, King Byron should be down in the next ten minutes or so. Would you like anything to eat or drink? I’m sure you must be parched from the long ride.” Nico asks politely, hands clasped behind his back. Although you’re not particularly hungry or thirsty, you know it’s not good manners, and can be rather politically damaging, to turn down an offer of nourishment in this situation.

“Some tea would be lovely, please.” He nods with a bright grin. “Thank you.”

He just bounces back to the door, giving a quick but still correctly formed bow. “Of course. I’ll be back with it in a moment. Do you have any kind you prefer?”

That makes you pause. You’ve learned, and were forced to tolerate, any sort of drink under Stefan’s tyranny for the sake of politic and democratic reputations, so you’ve never really thought too much about it.

But then, there is one that you really hate.

“I don’t mind at all, but preferably not white tea, if that’s alright.” You answer, feeling a pang of sickness just from thinking about the fluid. He nods, expression becoming more serious.

“Very good. If you’ll excuse me.” At your returned nod, he leaves the room, shutting the door once more.

You sigh heavily.

_So much extra effort, for formalities that everyone knows are entirely for show. It’s ridiculous._

Mere minutes later, he comes in with an elaborate tray of tea, full of what you can see are many different types and gradients. He starts to prepare what you immediately identify as Earl Grey, something that somehow doesn’t surprise you; it was a favourite of the corrupt nobility back at home, so maybe it’s just a popular tea among the rich and powerful.

When he’s done, having asked your preferences on the tea itself, he hands it over before standing next to the couch you’re on. You take the tea with a thank you, but you stiffen all the same, immediately suspicious of what he’s doing stood next to you. Despite this, you sip at the tea periodically, absently noticing that it’s probably the most delicious you’ve ever had.

Halfway through, the door opens. Byron walks in, followed closely by Albert.

You put your cup down and stand, giving a deeper, more formal bow. You use the bow to speak, giving you time to calm your racing heart when you remember kissing him in the Wysterian Royal Gardens. “King Byron, I apologise for coming without warning. I hope I haven’t caused too much disruption here, nor in the town.”

You rise now, just as he comes to a stop before the couch opposite yours. He gives a bow himself, responding in his usual deep, reverberating voice, “It’s no trouble. I understand why it was necessary, and think that it would have been detrimental to the war effort if we had not have made any alterations regarding the lesser numbers of enemy forces.”

You internally sigh with relief. He gets it. “Thank you.”

You both sit down, and you indicate to the map you brought with you. One of the Steiner guards checked it over before setting it up on the table between the couches. It hasn’t been changed yet from the formation that was agreed on, but you’ve already got a pretty good idea of what the shifts are going to be.

“This is the original plan we had. There won’t need to be excessive changes, but your troops in particular, and my own, should we be needed, will have to be taken into consideration. Granted, a portion of the Laurelian forces will also need to change their plan.” You start off, indicating to the relevant troops as you go. He nods, studying the map intensely.

“I agree. It will only do us harm to waste troops on enemies who are no longer a threat.” He agrees, leaning forward more. Albert moves in a bit closer, so he can look at the map as well, and Nico leans down next to you to do the same. Byron speaks again, asking, “Since you’ve shown yourself to be significantly more skilled with strategising and tactics, do you have any suggestions for alterations? I’d like to hear them, if possible.”

You’re not doing too badly. You feel slightly uneasy just because of the nature of what this is, but it’s not nearly as bad as the other week. “Yes, I do.”

You go through the changes you think will be most logical, and the three listen intently, completely focused and fully concentrating. Albert raises any concerns as he goes, and you explain to him whether they’re significant or not, then make alterations when necessary. It takes a good two and a half hours to go through the whole thing, because you have to consider Laurelia’s troops as well, and then make sure that none of the changes will impact the other nations on your side.

But, finally, it’s done, and you sit back with a light sigh.

“I’m satisfied with this. It will no doubt make it easier to deal with Protea’s forces, at the very least.” Byron murmurs with a nod, sitting back as well.

“As am I. I agree, and if Protea’s ally is lying to us, we can simply revert back to the old formation as soon as we know there’s a problem. This should also take some strain off the Laurelian knights.” You respond, eyes still on the map. They move, though, and come to settle on the windows, and your stomach clenches slightly when you see that it’s now night-time. The sky has already descended into a deep indigo sea, and some stars are visible already.

It’s going to be a fun ride home.

You push to your feet, deciding to get going quickly so as to avoid as much danger as possible on the way. “I should take my leave. It’s getting late, so I’d rather depart now, if we’re finished with this.”

Byron knew you’d try to go home now, even though it’s extremely dangerous and unwise to do so. The dream he had flashes before his mind’s eye, and his insides lurch with panic.

_She can’t possibly risk it. It’s too hazardous, and could do so much damage to her people’s morale if she was hurt or killed._

It’s now that he finds himself feeling oddly lonely and uncomfortable again. He has the urge to go over to you and wrap you in his arms, to stop you from leaving and putting yourself in harm’s way. “It wouldn’t be wise to leave now, at this time of night. With your journey back being quite long, you would be out in the early hours, and with tensions as they are, it would be risky since you’re on your own. I don’t doubt your abilities, but it would be extremely harmful to your country and to the war if something were to happen to you.”

His words are spoken calmly, and his face betrays no emotion, but his thoughts are reeling. He feels physically sick at the idea of you going out alone, of possibly being attacked and overwhelmed, of someone doing something to you-

You, on the other hand, are torn.

Your people want you home. They want you there and safe and with them just before the war starts.

You want to be here. You want to stay with Byron and spend just a little more time with him before your life comes to a potential end in battle.

A frown slips onto your face. “It will create unrest for me to be away from home so soon before the war.” You counter gently.

He nods. “It will.” He stands up now, approaching you slowly, speaking softly but purposefully. “But it will destroy them if you’re hurt, or even killed, regardless of the war.”

Your eyes meet his. His gaze is so strong, so intense and powerful, that it could make you melt, and would if Nico and Albert weren’t in the room. “You’ve done much for Stein and our allies already. Remain here until morning, and then return home as soon as dawn arrives. It is no trouble to have you here.”

It takes all your composure not to throw yourself into his arms.

Who are you kidding? You don’t want to go, and he doesn’t want you to go.

“Alright.” You murmur, nodding slightly. “I’ll leave at dawn.”

He returns the nod, then turns to Albert. “See to it that the chambers are prepared for her. I would speak to her privately for now, if she will allow it.” You nod again to the indirect question. Byron continues, adding, “I have things I'd like to discuss with General ___. Ensure that we’re not disturbed unless it’s absolutely necessary.” Albert gives a bow, placing his hand over his heart.

“Of course, Your Majesty.” He turns around and leaves the room, and Nico mimics the bow.

“I will take my leave as well, then, King Byron. If you’ll excuse me.” When there’s no protest, he exits as well.

It’s silent for a long few seconds.

Your heart is hammering away in your chest. You shouldn’t be thinking about such things, but you just want to have some time with him. You just want him to hold you and let you cry to him, want him to tell you you’re going to be alright in the war. You want the security of his arms around you, his deep voice, reassuring you, murmuring hushed words in your ear.

He’s exactly the same. It takes all that he is to not trap you in his arms and never let you go. All he wants is to have you with him, alive, warm and unharmed. He wants to be able to kiss you again, to let you experience all the things you haven’t and for him to share those experiences with you. He wants to learn more, to understand more, and to love even more than he already does.

Standing there, with you a mere foot away, it’s unbearable.

From the look in your eyes, he knows you probably won’t say something first.

He has no problem doing it himself. “Come here.”

You practically throw yourself into his arms, and they lock around your waist so tightly it almost hurts. You cling onto his neck, savouring the heat pouring from him, trying to engrave the sensation of his strength and security into your mind forever. All of your guards come down, breaking and shattering into pieces with relief and joy. You’ve never felt so happy to see someone, let alone be touched by them.

He lowers his face to nuzzle it in the crook of your neck, breathing in the beautiful smell of your skin, almost trying to drown himself in the scent. He pulls you against him, as close as possible, and lets out a soft sigh at the feeling of your torso touching his. This is what he wants. It’s this act of giving in to his emotions and letting the guide him that’s so strange, but it’s so wonderful at the same time. It felt natural to tell you to come to him, to open his arms for you and wrap you in an embrace as soon as he had the chance.

It’s something he never would have done before, but now, the thought of standing in a room alone with you, yet not having you with him, is almost maddening.

Neither of you speak for a long time, simply remaining where you are, basking in the other’s presence. The clock on the wall ticks softly, quietly, and the room eventually becomes dimly lit, only the moon and the candles providing a means of seeing. Both of you hear the odd but frequent hoots from Spinner outside.

Eventually, though, you find the will and energy to speak, murmuring gently, “I’m sorry. You must have work to do.”

He smiles slightly, giving a small shake of his head. “I don’t. I finished it when I was told you’d arrived, since it was the last batch I needed to complete before the war begins. As such, I have no work left now.”

That’s a relief. You relax against him, body trying to curl into him almost instinctively. He speaks again after a few seconds, voice very quiet but completely honest. “I’m glad you came here today, not only for the change of plans. I’m happy I could see you before the war begins.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling them become moist, throat thickening at the same time. His words are so kind, and spoken so lovingly, that it almost hurts. “I’m glad I could see you as well, for the same reasons. I’m grateful to have been able to spend more time with you before it all starts.”

His heart aches again. It’s strange to think that just two sentences from you can stir such strong feelings in him, and can make him physically hurt. He pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at you.

“I have time now, if you’d like to spend it with me.” You raise your head to look at him, eyes opening. His breathing stops short, insides exploding with confusion, worry and pain, when he sees that your eyes are glistening in the light of the candles. His expression crumbles, showing his shock plainly. “Tears?”

You freeze for a moment, then swiftly let go of him to reach up and swipe at your eyes, blinking the water away. “I’m sorry. I’d love to spend time with you, if it’s okay.” A wry, weak smile tugs at your lips, and you laugh mirthlessly. “I don’t know why I’m acting like this.”

You honestly don’t. You’re unsure of what’s going on with you, but you put. It down to the strong mix of clashing emotions that’s making you want to cry. After all, you’re elated to be with him, but you’re miserable and dreading the war on the inside, and knowing that you could very easily die soon is taking its toll on you.

He can’t believe you’d apologise for crying. Raised by such an awful man as Stefan, it’s understandable why you’d feel it necessary to, but he doesn’t want you to hide your feelings or silence your humanity. He wants to see it, to embrace it and come to understand your heart, better than anyone. He wants to be the one you’ll show your emotions to, and to be the one you’ll entrust everything about yourself to.

So, he raises his hand to brush his fingers across your cheek, then leans down and close to your face. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes closing without you even thinking, but you don’t pull away. He presses a slow, gentle kiss to your eyelid, copying it with the other, before doing the same with your forehead. “Never apologise for being yourself around me. I don’t mind if you cry. If that’s what you need to do, I’ll accept all of your tears. Don’t be afraid to show them with me.”

You can’t do it. You can’t hold it together anymore. His words break down the final barrier between your tears and all the stress of the past few weeks.

Seeing you open your eyes and several tears pour from them, he gently pulls you to the couch facing the windows, sitting down. With a calm gaze, he lightly tugs you down to be sat next to him, then curls his arms around your middle, turning you so that your legs lie on top of his. Your body flushes with heat, excitement and worry, making you tense up at first, but he smiles again and nods upon observing how unsure you look. He tucks you against his side, and you bury your face in his neck hesitantly, ever panicking and in internal hysteria over whether you’re making a mistake or not.

And you just can’t silence Stefan’s voice in your head.

_Don’t let him see you weak. You’re giving him the knife he’ll put in your back._

You think about how different he is around you, how sincere and kind and caring he is.

_You’re wrong. He doesn’t love you. He’s just faking it to use you later on._

But he’s not, and you know it. You can sense a liar the moment they start to say something untrue. This is the man who loves you.

Your fingers curl into fists. The tears start to fall in earnest.

It hurts him the moment you start to cry. It makes him feel so many different emotions that it’s absolutely baffling; anger, frustration, sorrow, confusion, remorse… to see another person cry…

It’s never hit him like this before.

He’s seen people cry, of course, from pain, or from alcohol opening up the closet of skeletons someone has been hiding, or from grief, or fury. He’s seen it many a time, but it’s never registered with him. He’s given his sympathies when it’s been appropriate, and said nothing when it hasn’t been. But now, with you, it unsettles his own emotions in a way he didn’t think was possible.

He tightens his embrace, shifting you to be cradled against him, before he moves you to be sat on his lap. Through your tears, you barely even notice this, too swallowed up by anxiety, gripping fear, frustration and then also relief. Your sobs are muffled by his clothes and throat, and when you whisper through the hitched breaths, they’re almost inaudible.

“I’m… sorry… for crying… don’t… want to… lose anyone.” His heart may as well have shattered in his chest. Of course you must not want the war to go through, with everything you’ve already suffered with. It’s too late for you to pull your troops out without causing diplomatic chaos, so there’s no way for you to be saved from losing anyone.

But he can stop you from being subjected to that horror yourself.

“Don’t fight.” He murmurs lowly. Your breath catches in your throat, your sob getting stuck as you turn your head to the side and stare up at him. “Don’t put yourself through it. You don’t need to. It’s only going to cause you more pain, even if you come out of it unscathed.”

You immediately shake your head, mumbling back around your now lessening cries, “I’d never do that. I- I made the call… to go to war. They agreed… but I formally involved my country. I wouldn’t… wouldn’t… send them off to die. I couldn’t.”

If only you weren’t so kind.

He sighs softly, reaching up to brush his fingers through your hair, and you hide your face in his neck again. He’s struck by the thought once more that you’ve gone from being mere fellow leaders, completely detached and untrusting of one another, to this, in maybe half a year.

Yet, it feels right and normal. It feels like he’s in the correct place, with you sat on his lap, crying to him and telling him what’s worrying you. He’s never done anything like it, but he’s not opposed to it at all.

You’ve been through so much, have suffered so heavily, that you need someone to help and support you. He’s more than willing to be that person.

There isn’t anything that he can say to help now. So, he simply stays there, keeping you cradled in his arms, stroking your hair. He lifts your left hand, raising it up to his lips. He presses a soft, almost non-existent kiss to your ring finger, promising himself internally that he will truly make you his queen one day. Not the Queen of Stein, necessarily, but his queen as the man he is, and to make himself your king. He doesn’t care what it takes to do it.

You deserve the world, and he’ll do what he can to give it to you.

Through your emotional turmoil, you feel the kiss on your finger, even through your gloves. It sets your heart racing, and even though it makes you think of the one thing you’ve never liked the thought of, it fills you with a sense of warmth and security, of hope of some sort of future with Byron. Maybe not a future you would be entirely happy with, but…

Just to have a future, to survive and be able to have some semblance of a life with him, would be a blessing in itself.

Eventually, your emotions settle again, and you feel an odd sensation of release, of finality. It’s like you feel as though you won’t need to cry much anymore. Maybe it’s because you’re probably going to die soon, maybe not. You don’t quite understand it. You take some time to breathe, letting your body come down and calm itself, and dry your face of the remnants of tears. He waits until you’re completely composed and still against him, at which point he feels your arm hesitantly come up, allowing you to very unsurely hug his neck.

“I don’t understand.” You mumble into his skin, warmth of your breath on his skin sending a shiver down his spine. He waits for you to continue. “I’ve never… I’ve never needed to be close to someone like this before. Xander and Tobias have always been there when I’ve been unable to sleep, but that was just for sleep. This, I don’t get it.” You sigh heavily. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to get off you?”

His grip on you tightens instinctively, body urging him to not let you distance yourself from him at all. You freeze, feeling the change in force around you. He turns his head and lowers it down to your shoulder, where he lets his face rest in the crook of your neck cautiously.

When you don’t protest, he nuzzles into the flesh more firmly, around your uniform and cape, before murmuring in response, “It seems we’re both the same. I’ve never desired to have anyone close like this at all, nor have I ever felt emotions remotely close to this. I don’t quite understand it myself.”

He smiles slightly into your skin, and the feeling of his lips moving sends little flutters of excitement through you. “I don’t want you to move at all. If anything, I’d like to remain as we are for a while.”

You’re silent for a moment.

“Because we only have tonight, and then one or both of us could die.” He nods mutely. It takes a few more seconds before you speak again. “There’s so much I haven’t done. Why did it have to come to this?”

He threads his fingers through yours, still holding your left hand, and gives them a light squeeze. He wonders what sort of things you’re talking about. “No one can say. Although I don’t believe in it very much, I think to some extent, this all comes down to bad luck and timing.” He pauses, recalling the series of events leading up to this point. “Unless…”

You lift your head from his neck, and he does the same with yours, staring down at you. “Unless?”

He narrows his eye, the hand holding yours tightening again. “Unless this was all premeditated, and was simply triggered at an optimal time.”

You frown slightly at that, sitting up so that your face is level with his. He lowers his hand to rest it on the small of your back, under your cape, and you absently notice that the touch sends warmth rolling through you. “What do you mean?”

His expression becomes blank again, eye completely serious. “The cultural exchange was set up quickly, out of the blue, shortly after your country had its civil war and you became its leader.”

You freeze, pupils expanding slightly in the dim lighting. He keeps speaking, thinking as he goes. “It’s rare for a leader to handle a country alone, and even I am consistently tested in being suitable to rule Stein. For you to become the leader of your country, the nobility of Protea at least would view you as unsuitable because of your common birth; they know nothing of your past. They may have witnessed this and seen an opportunity to annex your country, taking it as Protea’s own.”

It starts to click in your head. You nod slowly. “The meeting seemed rushed when it was set up. The host of it volunteered to do it himself, when usually they’re instructed to do so by the monarch for political or democratic agendas. Nothing made sense when it all happened with the ice, and it’s pretty clear that the host intended for things to go wrong, with the Prime Minister seeming to be pleased about it. I don’t know about the king.”

He returns the nod, stare hardening. “And for then afterward, the king to either die or be dethroned, it indicates disparity in their court.”

Your frown lessens marginally, and you let out a breath. “So the king originally had plans to annex my country, and thought he had the support of his bureaucrats, but at least the host if not others weren’t on his side. They must have influenced or had the support of the military, who helped him to escape afterward. Protea is now thrown into chaos because of the meeting and so many countries having their nobilities put in danger.”

Byron allows himself a small frown. “Meaning that you were right in thinking that they wanted the destruction of Protea all along, or at least wanted a war to create a power vacuum big enough to establish a new government. Although, that’s much less likely considering the scale of damage they’ve done.”

It’s quiet again.

“The bureaucrats decided to destroy their whole country.” You sigh out, baffled. Why would anyone do something so extreme? They could have dealt with the king without causing a region-wide war. “Why would they do something like that?”

Byron’s just as confused, but he merely shakes his head. “For now, at the very least, we can’t know the exact reasons for it happening. It’s to some extent safe to assume that the bureaucrats are extremists or anarchists, and are trying to pull off a very badly orchestrated revolution or coup. It’s too late to stop it now, or even do anything to better the situation.”

You nod again, gaze dropping to your lap. He studies your expression for a long few seconds, watching all the little changes that happen every few seconds with your thoughts. It’s fascinating to witness, such clear emotion and humanity, so plain and visible.

_Such beauty…_

You notice him staring at you now, and your cheeks swiftly heat up at the intensity of his gaze. You start to worry, thinking he’s going to do something bad on instinct. “What is it?”

He allows himself a tiny smile, answering simply, “Your expression changes so frequently. It’s interesting to watch.”

Although it makes sense considering his general lack of expression, because of his upbringing most likely, it still surprises you and makes you to some extent embarrassed. You were supposed to remain stone-faced and emotionless around the leaders, and you realise now that you’ve completely failed. You turn your head to the side, feeling a swell of guilt and panic rising in your chest, before you start to rid your face of emotion.

He blinks, confused by how you turn away from him. Did he say something wrong? “What’s wrong?”

You go still, mind and emotions torn. One side of you says to hide everything, that you’ve already let him see way too much weakness and that you’re in huge danger by this point. The other side says that you can trust him, and that you should let him see your feelings.

“I…” His hand comes up, letting yours go, before cupping your cheek and gently turning your head so he can see your face. You divert your eyes to his chest, unsure of what to do. “Nothing. I just…”

Seeing your uncertainty, he rubs your lower back gently, moving his fingers in slow, calming circles. He waits patiently, until you can finally gather the courage to say it.

“You saying that just… it- it made me remember that I wasn’t supposed to show anyone from other countries my emotions. I keep remembering what Stefan taught me, about not letting anyone in and preventing them from seeing me as anything but strong and unable to be doubted.” You close your eyes, trying to silence the madness in your head. “Sometimes I don’t know what to do. I can do that with anyone else, but- with you, it…”

You press your lips together. You’re throwing yourself straight into the deepest hole you can find by saying this. “I can’t be like that. I used to be able to, at the start, but I can’t now. I’ve just cried in front of you, and I’ve told you about my past, and-”

“___.”

He murmurs your name softly, caressing it with his rich voice. You open your eyes, seeing him smiling again, more relaxed and content than you’ve ever seen him. “I don’t want you to be afraid of showing me your emotions. I’ve never felt able to show anyone else my own, true emotions, because I have never felt as though I could trust them. However, since I’ve met you, I’ve found myself able to do it more and more, but only with you. I’ve wanted, for the first time, to smile more, and have felt more emotion since I met you than I have in my whole life.”

You can feel yourself not breathing. Your heart pounds away in your chest, and little do you know, his is as well.

“I’ve found that I have enjoyed experiencing emotions, even if I’ve only had them properly for a short amount of time, and wish to come to understand them more. So, I would ask that you don’t hide your own from me, and I will do the same.”


	11. Part XI | Seal. Love. Blades. Goodbyes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the weird place to break it up! Otherwise, I’d have to have part X as like 15,000 words long and that shiz is ridiculous, so there you go. Please don’t hate me.

**†** **♛** **†**

**Previously:**

“___.”

He murmurs your name softly, caressing it with his rich voice. You open your eyes, seeing him smiling again, more relaxed and content than you’ve ever seen him. “I don’t want you to be afraid of showing me your emotions. I’ve never felt able to show anyone else my own, true emotions, because I have never felt as though I could trust them. However, since I’ve met you, I’ve found myself able to do it more and more, but only with you. I’ve wanted, for the first time, to smile more, and have felt more emotion since I met you than I have in my whole life.”

You can feel yourself not breathing. Your heart pounds away in your chest, and little do you know, his is as well.

“I’ve found that I have enjoyed experiencing emotions, even if I’ve only had them properly for a short amount of time, and wish to come to understand them more. So, I would ask that you don’t hide your own from me, and I will do the same.”

**†** **♛** **†**

Your eyes well up again, but you’re not going to cry. This is happiness, not sorrow.

“Byron…” His name leaves your lips before you can stop it. He pulls you closer, leaving maybe an inch of space between your faces. He has every urge to just kiss you, but he wouldn’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable or scare you.

“May I?” He asks gently, hand moving around to run through your hair again. The touch is so soothing and kind, you want nothing but for him to do it. You nod, eyelids fluttering closed.

Neither of you can even feel any fear, or worry, about someone coming in and seeing you both. His eyelids slide shut, arm curling around your waist tighter.

All of the sparks and warmth and excitement you both felt the other week come rushing back, even stronger and more exhilarating than before. He kisses you deeply, keeping his fingers embedded in your soft hair to hold you as close as possible. Your arms wind around his neck, one hand mimicking his and threading through his silky locks. A low, quiet groan, but one you hear clearly and feel reverberate through his chest, escapes him at the sensation, shivers rocking through his limbs.

Unable to pull you against him properly because you’re sideward-on, he releases your head to cautiously place it on your thigh, tensing the arm around your waist. Your body shudders against him at the feeling of him touching your leg, something you’ve never experienced before in this way, and he takes this as a sign that you don’t mind him doing so. Lowering you down to the side, he lays you back on the couch, his legs still under yours but his torso now able to drape itself over you.

The closeness, the proximity, the intimacy… it’s addictively overwhelming.

There’s a moment of very small, very subtle panic when he lies you down, but it disappears in an instant. He never breaks the kiss. You cling to him, a soft, almost unnoticeable, and completely foreign sound escaping you when he curls his arm under your back, lifting your stomach up to press against his. One of his legs moves out from under yours, settling itself between them. Your insides twist with nervous excitement.

_So this is what it’s like to love someone._

The thought blurs through your hazy mind, and your chest aches at the idea that you could die before being able to feel the experience that so many people talk about. To trust and give yourself to someone entirely, it’s a completely strange concept to you, and yet now, you want it so badly. Just to feel it, even once, to have that happiness considering all of the pain in your life… you deserve that much, don’t you?

He wants it too, but he wouldn’t expect something like that, not even if the circumstances were different. He wants to live a real life, to feel more and more, in not just emotional and mental respects but physical as well. He’s never felt such strong sensations from touching someone before, nor has he found himself addicted to them so swiftly. He knows it’s selfish to want something like that, but with death possibly hanging over both of your heads, he doesn’t want to end up passing on with regrets, even over something as ridiculous as this.

Without you even thinking about it, your leg rises up just slightly, your knee brushing against his hip. His hand moves down of its own accord, fingers lightly slipping under your calf to keep it there. Your body trembles under him.

_I wonder if he feels the way I do._

_Perhaps she wants the same as me._

He breaks away from your lips, cheeks flushed for the first time, breathing shallow and uneven. You gasp for breath, feeling him attach his mouth to the supple flesh of your throat. His name falls from your lips again, breathy and spilling with pleasure. “Byron…”

He pauses for a moment to take in your expression, and a shudder rattles his whole form when he gazes up at your face, overtaken by bliss and a peace he's never seen before. Your eyes open slowly, reflecting the love and passion swirling in his own eye. You brush your fingers across his cheek, and even through your gloves, he can feel the molten heat coming from you. “___...” He whispers.

Just like your first kiss, there’s a mutual feeling between you both. In that moment, you both feel as though you can hear the other’s thoughts, desiring the same thing. He rests his forehead against yours, breathing out, “I want to make you mine, and to be yours entirely. If we’re to go to war-”

“I want to know what it feels like, to be with you, even just once.” You finish his sentence gently, heartbeat pounding away. His stomach tightens, his own pulse thundering in his ears. A tender smile graces his lips, and he removes his hand from your leg to cup your cheek.

“Are you sure?” You nod, no hesitation in your eyes.

“Yes. Are you?” He returns the nod, pressing a very light, very loving kiss to your forehead. He reluctantly sits up, pulling you up with him by the hand.

“Come. We’ll go to my room, but if there are any bureaucrats in the corridors, I’ll deal with them and we’ll make a diversion.” Your limbs tingle with anticipation, a rush of emotions sweeping through you.

You’ve never done this before. You’re absolutely certain and ready, you know that, but you’re still nervous. He squeezes your hand, then brings it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your ring finger once more. “If you wish to stop, or decide against doing this, tell me. I won’t mind if you do.”

“I will.” Before he lets go of your hand, you place your other around his, adding, “Thank you, Byron, for allowing me this.”

_How is it possible for someone to be so beautiful?_

“You needn’t thank me, ___.” He smiles gently, and you give it back before releasing his hand. He lets go of yours, then makes his way to the door. You follow him out, and he waits for you to be beside him before starting off down the corridor. Despite the hammering of your heart in your chest, you keep your face blank and composed, as cool and calm as always.

He does the same, even as you go past several nobles in the hallways. One of them speaks, his tone cautious and not particularly respectful. “Your Majesty, with all due respect, what is the General doing in Stein at such a time, and on a day like this?”

Byron pauses, answering flatly, “She came here to discuss alterations to the battle plans for the war due to Protea’s ally pulling out of the war. If she had not, we could have possibly lost knights unnecessarily and might’ve fought for longer than we really need to. It was late by the time we finished, and so I offered for her to stay until the morning.

“It would be rather hazardous for her to return to her nation, considering that she came alone for the sake of speed, and it would be rather detrimental to the war effort if her army was to be compromised by her being injured or killed just before it begins.”

His explanation comes out in a long, harsh flow of words, and the bureaucrats seem completely taken aback by it. You nod, adding, “I’m aware that it will cause unrest both here and in my country by me staying here tonight, but I would hope that you could put that aside for the sake of the knights who will be fighting for Stein the day after tomorrow. If the situation wasn’t so turbulent, I would have risked returning home tonight regardless.”

Just to make them feel worse, you give a shallow but respectful bow before trading up straight again. The guilt on their faces is plain now, and the one who spoke clears his throat, swiftly apologising, “I see. I apologise for making such an assumption, General ___. Thank you for being so considerate about the knights of Stein, and for taking such a journey away from your home to make the alterations. Please forgive my rudeness.”

You almost smirk out of smugness.

_Now, stay off your high horse._

“Of course.” You respond breezily. Byron speaks again, his voice exuding power and making it obvious that the conversation is over. You’re glad; your nerves are starting to spike and become unsettled, which is probably a healthy response, all things considered.

“I’m showing General ___ to her room, since she will be departing early and will need her rest. If you’ll excuse us.” Without waiting for their response, he spins on his heels and continues down the corridor. You go with him, not sparing the bureaucrats a second glance.

The rest of the journey to the upper level of the castle, and then to the section where the bedrooms and chambers are, is uneventful. From where he tells you his chambers are, you are one corridor away when Nico and Albert round the corner, coming to a halt at the sight of you both. They quickly bow, and then Albert speaks in a cool, detached tone.

“The room is ready, Your Majesty.” Byron nods, coming to a slow stop.

“Good. Thank you; there isn’t any more work to be done with me, either of you, so you are dismissed. Feel free to do as you wish, for today and tomorrow, although preparation for the war and for moving out tomorrow wouldn’t go amiss.” His orders are clear and confident, and both knights freeze in shock. Nico’s eyes go wide, and Albert, while not showing it obviously, appears to be in complete mental turmoil.

“Y-Your Majesty?” He stutters out, almost seeming to struggle to form a sentence. “Are you sure?”

You briefly glance over at Nico, whose eyes now narrow, looking between you and Byron. You watch him out of your peripheral vision while staring out of the windows absently. Byron explains that he’s escorting you to your room. You notice a knowing smile start to grow on Nico’s lips, and try to remain calm while keeping from blushing, almost certain he’s clicked on.

This is bad. If he knows, he could tell someone.

“Come on, Al! If King Byron says he’s going to escort General ___, we should leave him to it!” He bows quickly, then gives Albert what looks like a rather hard jab in the rib with his elbow. The latter gives him a look of slightly pained bewilderment, jumping away from him, and Nico simply grins. He makes his way toward you both, inclining his head to Byron. “Al, let’s go have a duel! If you’ll excuse us, Your Majesty,”

He breezes past you on your side, and when he does, he lowers his voice, whispering with a kind, cheeky smile, “Your Highness.”

Your stomach lurches, and at the same time, your heartbeat stutters unevenly. Beside you, Byron stiffens marginally, turning his head enough to look at Nico. “Nico, come to my office tomorrow morning. I want to have a word with you.”

You can feel Nico suppressing a laugh behind you, and you try desperately to keep your expression clear while he speaks. “Of course, Your Majesty!”

Albert follows after him now, granted looking completely baffled. He gives a bow himself on the way, saying in a much more respectful tone, “Goodnight, Your Majesty, General ___.”

He takes off after Nico, snapping something at him that sounds like an insult. Once they’re gone and can’t be heard anymore, Byron glances down at you, murmuring, “Are you alright?”

You nod, although you’re still very much unsure. Your insides are still churning in a foreign way, a strange sensation washing through you over and over again, but somehow it’s not entirely unpleasant. Unusual, yes, but not necessarily uncomfortable. “Yes.”

He nods, but you have a feeling he’ll press you about it in a moment. He continues down the hallway, then turns into the next one, where a set of large doors stand in the centre. The corridor is completely silent, as are the others around it. He opens one of the doors, gesturing for you to go in. You enter, and he follows you in, closing the door quietly.

The room is for the most part gold, absolutely lavish and decorated intricately. Hints of midnight blue adorn the furniture and compliment the gold, giving the chambers an air of powerful luxury. Everything is impeccably neat, from the large bed to the ornate couches and sconces.

Byron places a hand on your back lightly, making you turn to look at him. “I apologise for Nico saying that. He’s fully aware that you requested not to be referred to with a royal title, so I have no idea why he dared to speak like that. He’ll be punished thoroughly, I assure you.”

Although you don’t like that he called you something associated so strongly with royalty, you can’t bring yourself to let him be punished for it. There wasn’t any malice in it when he said it. You think he just knows that something’s going on between you and Byron, and wanted to imply that he knew.

“Byron,” You start quietly. “Does Nico know?”

He pauses for a moment, then nods slowly. “Yes. He and Albert came to ensure that I was alright when we were nearly ready to depart from Wysteria, the day after the meeting, and they…” You start to dread his next words. He chooses them carefully. “May have overhead our conversation.”

You can feel your skin becoming warmer. “Conversation, meaning…”

He gives you a tiny smile, eyes twinkling with what almost looks like amusement. “Our whole discussion.”

They heard you talking about _that_ with Byron.

They heard you _kissing_ Byron.

They know you’re with him.

Panic floods your body, muscles tensing immediately. Seeing this, his hand leaves your back and moves to your hair, brushing it back gingerly. He notices that you’re rather flushed now, something he finds to be adorable as well as extremely enticing. “I’ve ordered them explicitly to not allow a soul to learn of it. Although Nico can be somewhat… rogue at times, he won’t tell anyone of this. You needn’t worry about either of them at all.”

That’s a relief. You let out a breath, feeling better in the knowledge that there’s no risk of anyone finding out. Well, unless they completely betray Byron’s trust, which they probably won’t.

“Good.” You decide that you don’t want Nico to be punished for definite, although a telling-off is probably in order. “Don’t punish him for saying that, unless you think it’s really necessary. I...” Your words trail off. You recall the feeling when he said it, that weird little twisting sensation that baffled you until it faded. It definitely wasn’t a bad feeling. “I didn’t mind it as much as I thought I would.”

Thinking about it on a deeper level, straight after the revolution, you had just killed Stefan. You suffered horrifically, mentally and emotionally as well as physically, with dealing with it. You were in pieces, and every day was awful just to wake up to because of the guilt that you felt for the whole thing. All you received was praise for what you did, but you could only think about all the people you guided to their deaths by instigating the whole thing.

So, of course, you were upset. You felt anger. You found someone to blame that anger on, and it was the group of people you’ve always felt bitterness and hatred toward _because_ of what Stefan did to you. You hated royalty automatically, like an instinctual response. That hatred only festered afterward, with your mounting stress and anger.

But then, things started to shift. From that day when you met Byron, when he did the unthinkable and knelt before a commoner leader elected by public vote… that’s when your feelings must have started to change.

You learned about him. You watched him and studied him, saw him interact and understood how he thinks. You’ve come to know him, like him, and now love him. You’ve witnessed first-hand, both with him but also with the Kings and Queens of Wysteria, Laurelia, Lindera and Carallia, that there isn’t just one type of monarch. They’re not all sick and twisted. They’re not bred to be cruel and detached.

Yes, sometimes they understand little about the lives of common people, of the everyday man on the street and what he has to do to survive. But that comes from many things. It could be as simple as them not having enough time opportunities to go down into town and see their people.

The revelation hits you hard, all of a sudden.

_I’ve been just like my image of them. I’ve held a prejudice and grudge against so many, just because of their title. There’s nothing wrong with being royal. There’s nothing wrong with being a king, queen, princess or prince. The only problem lies in being a bad royal. I didn’t ever ask the people if they wanted a new queen. All I asked was for them to elect a new leader. I never gave them the choice, out of my own spite._

A question appears in your mind’s eye, floating around, whispering and echoing to you.

_So would it be so horrible to become a royal?_

“___.”

Byron has been watching you, suddenly seeing you go off into a deep, serious train of thought. Your eyebrows have furrowed slightly, and you seem to be considering something complex. You suddenly snap out of it, eyes reeling up to meet his. The surprise on your face is clear. “I’m sorry! I just- I… I…”

He steps closer to you, sliding his arm around your waist and asking lowly, “What were you thinking about?”

You can feel your body heating up at the sensation of his stomach pressing against yours. Your heartbeat thunders in your chest again, almost hard enough to hurt, and you sound marginally breathless when you answer quietly.

“I realised… how unfair I’ve been. To you, and to so many people.” He narrows his eye, not understanding in the slightest how you’ve been unfair to anyone. You shake your head. “I held a prejudice and grudge against royals just because of Stefan, and I shouldn’t have. I’ve hated even the thought of a monarchy, on the basis that my own experiences with it will be the same as any others I’ll encounter, and that’s wrong.”

You let out a breath, bringing your hands up to rest them on his chest tentatively. His fingers sift through your hair idly, and you speak again, eyes dropping to the decorations on his uniform. “When Nico said that, I thought I’d be angry, or feel something awful. I thought it would make me remember Stefan and everything that happened in the castle, but it didn’t. I think it didn’t, because I now understand that my assumptions were weakly based and childish. They were completely unfair and idiotic. If was strange being called that, but… it wasn’t bad.”

You raise your gaze now, meeting his own, much stronger and firmer than before. “I’m sorry, for assuming so much and being unfair like that. I shouldn’t have, and I fully understand that now.”

He has listened to all of this silently, taking in your words, and all he can think is one thing.

_With every single second, she becomes more and more breathtaking._

He’s glad that you’ve been able to understand. He’s glad that you’ll be able to see the other royals fairly now, and that you’ve been able to overcome your prejudice. However, he’s not remotely annoyed about it in the first place; considering what you went through, it’s only natural for you to build up defences around yourself. It’s expected that you’d distance yourself from anyone like Stefan to avoid that agony from happening again.

But, he’s so, so proud that he was able to help you see through the guards in your mind. It makes him happier than he ever thought could be possible for something like this.

“You’re forgiven.” He smiles kindly, genuinely. “But anyone in their right mind would acknowledge that your prejudice was a product of the suffering you endured. It’s to be expected, and is a natural response. It is not something that can be easily controlled.”

He leans down now, tightening his grip on your waist under your cape. His lips hover over your left ear. When he murmurs his next words, they come out in a deep, almost sensual hum, purring and reverberating through the silent room, even with the joking tint to them underneath.

“So, may I call you my queen when we’re alone like this?”

Your limbs tremble with excitement, heartbeat racing again. All you can feel is a very odd, unfamiliar thrill rolling through you again and again, your stomach clenching with anticipation. You become so aware of his hands, feeling his molten warmth around you, feeling the heat from his face next to yours. Your answer comes out naturally, despite what you expect it to be.

“Yes.”

The joy is almost euphoric. His body shudders around you.

Without warning, he moves his arm down to lock it around the back of your thighs, then lifts you up to be held against him, his other hand moving down quickly. He hitches one thigh over his hip, and you quickly do the same with the other, something deep inside you coiling and pulsing with excitement and desire. You lean in to kiss him ardently, with passion and love and lust. He groans again at the feeling of your legs around him and your pelvis pressed so close to his own.

He makes his way over to the bed, not breaking the kiss once. He plants a knee on it, then lowers you down and onto the soft covers just like he did before. You pull him against you, legs remaining curled around his hips. He’s so hot, he melting on the inside, everything in him blazing with emotions. You’re the same, body responding to his every touch, nerves sparking and doing everything they can to keep him there. Your hips tremble, feeling him move in, body resting between them.

_I want her._

His fingers come away from your thighs, where they’ve been gripping and squeezing your flesh through your trousers. He keeps a hand on the cover to support himself, while the other comes up to the clasps of his cape, desperate to take it off.

_She’s so warm._

He unclips them deftly, in one smooth motion, and throws the cape to the floor. He releases your lips for a few moments, just long enough to undo the clips of his jacket, then his shirt, and rid himself of them both. His gloves follow.

_But so am I._

Your insides clench, eyes opening. His chest, now bare before you, is almost godly, smooth and unmarked and strong, muscles prominent throughout it. Without even thinking, your hands reach up, brushing the skin over his heart. He shivers just slightly, your touch so light and gentle that it’s irresistible.

_He’s so beautiful._

For a moment, you feel a lot of things. Nervousness, self-consciousness, worry, fear, excitement, confusion, love. You think about your body, about all the scars you have, about how mutilated it is from years of torture and beatings. You think about how repulsive it must look.

But looking into his deep hue staring down at you, his cheeks flushed with blood and breathing ever so marginally hitched, you know this is right. You know he’ll love you for what you are.

_I want to be his._

You take hold of the clasps of your own cape, undoing them with nimble fingers. He curls his arm under your back again, pulling you up to be sat upright, now in his lap. Your cape flutters down to the floor, falling on top of his. You follow with your own jacket and gloves, leaving you in your thin top.

There’s that bolt of fear again. You take a moment to breathe, calming yourself.

Seeing this, he lowers his lips to your collarbone, cradling your form against him. His fingers slip under your top, testing, moving up and teasing the skin there cautiously. Your arms wrap around his neck and head, embracing him, getting lost in the feeling of his mouth suckling lightly on your flesh.

Sensing that you don’t want him to stop, his hands glide up your spine, fingertips ghosting up the ridges. Your back arches toward him, pleasure flitting through your nerves, drawing a quiet gasp from you. He nudges your top up higher, still carefully, still waiting for you to stop him.

You don’t. You’re absolutely certain now.

You reach down to take hold of the top, lifting it up. The cool air of the room wafts over your bare stomach and back, making you shiver, mind wracked with nervousness.

_What will he think of me?_

You drop the top to the floor, left in your trousers, boots and binder, along with your blades.

His heartbeat stutters for a second, jumping and skittering unevenly.

_She’s so beautiful._

He saw your torso once before, when he first walked in on you and discovered your hidden blades, but he wasn’t thinking very much about you in this sort of way. He was more in a complete panic, thinking that you’d murdered someone in the castle, thinking that his instincts had been drastically wrong and had led him to like a killer.

But now, he studies them up close, nothing in his eyes but respect, love and kindness.

Your head has turned to the side, eyes shut tightly. They open, though, when you feel him cradle your body against his own, leaving no space between you both. He runs his lips over a scar on the right side of your upper chest, one you gained when Stefan was teaching you how to force your way through being stabbed or wounded deeply.

You watch him kiss it tenderly, lovingly. He speaks softly, breathily, warming the flesh. “These scars are beautiful, ___. You should never have had to go through getting them, but they show that you are so, so strong. You’ve endured so much. Every mark, every scar and imperfection, is a symbol of your courage.”

He presses a last kiss to it, one that’s long and makes you want to both cry and kiss him. “I imagine you wish that these scars didn’t exist. If I could make them disappear, I would. However,”

He raises his eye to meet your gaze, completely serious and calm, as composed and sincere as ever. “I love you for who you are. I love every inch of you, in mind, body and soul. You are the most beautiful, most breathtaking person in the world to me, with or without these scars.”

Your eyes fill with tears. You’ve never felt so loved and cherished in your life, and have never felt so grateful before.

“I love you, Byron. Thank you.” You whisper, lips graced by a sudden, beaming smile, a real one that you can’t remembering having for a long time.

He returns it, the sight of such a relaxed, gentle expression and show of happiness sending his already pounding heart thundering away. “I love you, ___, more than I could ever express with words.”

Your lips come together again, this kiss somehow more subdued and slow, longer and deeper and full of so many different dimensions. He caresses your skin, fingers tracing over scars he finds on your back and sides. Your fingers graze over his back and neck, mapping out every part of him you can find, engraving it into your memory. After a few minutes, you undo the straps and clips on your blades, taking a moment to separate your lips from his and breathe.

_This is my last line of defence. Once these are gone, I have nothing._

He strokes your back, watching you open all of the fastenings on the weapon. He notices how, even though you’ve had them on this whole time, he’s never feared for his life. He never worried about you turning on him, never even considered the prospect of you hurting or killing him in his moment of weakness.

_Because I love her, and I trust her._

He sees you pause when you part the fabric, the scar from Stefan’s branding peeking through in the moonlight. Your fingers curl into fists for a second, emotions whirling again. He slowly takes hold of the blade, and you meet his gaze once more, seeing him giving you an encouraging nod.

You exhale slowly. This is it.

The blade slides off your wrist, exposing it completely. Taking the strength you have and using it as much as possible, you undo the other and remove it, throwing them to the other end of the bed.

He doesn’t hesitate in raising your wrist to his lips, and he presses soft, fluttering butterfly kisses to the scarred flesh.

_She’s beautiful, no matter the scars she has._

You’ve done what is most likely the hardest thing for you to do by removing your blades and showing yourself to him. He supposes it’s time for him to do it, too.

He’s afraid, of course. You knew his father. He recalls you saying you spoke to him on several occasions, and that you had to be around him quite a bit at soirées. What if you see his true face and liken it to Gerald? What if it brings back awful memories and makes you hate or be frightened of him?

But something in his heart tells him he’s wrong. Something hushes his worries, telling him to trust you, encouraging him to have faith and believe in how much you love him.

He exhales quietly, looking up at you. You stare back at him, a complex mixture of emotions on your face, but love is written all over you.

_I trust her. I love her._

He lifts your hand just a bit, placing your fingers on his eyepatch.

Your heartbeat falters for a moment. You never expected him to take his eyepatch off.

Seeing your surprise, he smiles again, nodding. “You did something that was hard for you to do. It’s only fair that I do as well.”

Something in your chest stirs, swirling and churning with a sensation you don’t know. But, seeing the surety and certainty in his eye, you know he’s alright with it. This might be your only chance to see him for what he is.

Your right hand cups his face, holding it tenderly. He closes his eye for a brief moment, almost nuzzling his face into your palm. He opens it again, watching your left hand reach around the back of his head.

You lean forward, pressing a kind, soft kiss to his forehead. Then, you draw back slightly, pulling the thread of his eyepatch.

It falls away from his face, and he catches it, then tosses it beside your blades behind him. Steeling himself silently, he looks up at you with both eyes.

You’re rendered speechless for a long few seconds. All you can do it gaze at him, entranced by his unnatural beauty, by his god-like features. You saw them all before, of course, but removing the eyepatch seems to change everything somehow. It makes him more exposed, more _him_ , in a sense, but also much stronger.

If he thinks you’re breathtaking, he must be deathly in how stunning he is.

“It’s beautiful.” Your whispered words come without you even thinking about them.

His insides practically explode with relief. He can see the wonder in your own orbs, can see the question in them.

_Why do you hide it?_

He murmurs the answer, watching you watch him, enraptured, at how you’re not at all deterred by it, by how you seem to be locked in his gaze. “My face is similar to my father’s. You knew him, correct?” You nod, frowning slightly. His smile returns. “I don’t want the people of Stein to see him in me, to see his rule of terror reflected in my appearance. That is why I wear it.”

You can understand him… but you don’t.

Of course, now that you think about it, he shares many of his father’s features. You remember Gerald Wagner clearly, from soirées and banquets and balls. However, you don’t think his people would think any differently of him just for him looking like his father. He’s done so much to remove the tyrant, and to restore Stein to a much better position, that it shouldn’t matter to them.

You brush your fingers under the newly exposed eye, lightly moving a piece of his hair out of the way. He tightens his grip on you a little, asking, “Do you see him in me?”

You go still for a moment, assessing his emotions. You could do it quite well before, but now, with both eyes visible, it’s all too easy to read him.

_He’s afraid._

You stroke his cheekbones with your thumbs, breathing out, “I see the resemblance.” There’s a twinge of pain in his chest. He goes to speak, but you press one thumb over his mouth, stopping him gently. “But all I see before me is the man I love, Byron Wagner. Your face is not Gerald Wagner. Your face, your eyes, nothing about you, symbolises tyranny.”

You kiss his forehead again, mumbling into it, “With or without that eyepatch, you are still you. You are still the first king that I’ve ever been able to respect, and you are a king who loves his country and his people dearly. You are still beautiful. You are kind and caring. Looking like him does not change that.”

It’s in this moment that Byron Wagner first experiences what it’s like to cry.

Not from sadness, not from loss, not from anger or grief, of course not. He's _almost_ incapable of that. But from happiness, though... that's something he can't control.

He sits there, embracing you, embraced by you, but pauses and catches his breath at the feeling of his throat closing up. At first, he panics, thinking that something’s wrong with him or that you’ve done something despite all odds. But then, his vision blurs, enough for him to blink in confusion, wondering what the sudden heaviness in his eyes is from. When he does, a tear falls down his cheek, trailing down the pale skin and almost glowing in the moonlight.

He’s amazed. He’s also completely terrified, because your mere words have made him do something he’s never done in his life, but at the same time he’s also elated.

_This is what it’s like to feel things so strongly…_

His heart flutters in his chest.

_This is what it’s like to be human._

You look down, and you immediately freeze upon seeing the tear and his look of confusion. “Byron?”

He gazes up at you, a strange look passing through his eyes. “So this is what it’s like to cry.”

Even though, realistically, it shouldn’t surprise you, you’re numbed with shock. “You’ve… never cried before?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t know it could happen just from words, nor from words that cause happiness.”

You take a moment to process this, struck by the same words you’ve had spoken to you so many times.

_What have they done to you?_

You lean in, placing your lips against his cheekbone, where the tear fell. You feel his fingers clutch at your back more, digging in enough for you to feel it. Moving back again, you recall something you heard a long time ago. “Someone told me that only the strongest people cry when they’re happy.”

A small, wry smile tugs at his lips. He buries his face in your throat, painting the skin with long, deep, ardent kisses. “I disagree.”

You arch into him again, lost in the pleasure of his kisses. “Then… we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

He grins against your throat. He remembers saying that to you after the meeting, something that seems so long ago now.

He lowers you down once more now, settling his body to be draped over you, his hips between your legs. He suckles on your neck, being cautious not to leave marks that could be seen in the coming days, licking and kissing and nibbling at the sweet flesh. A breathless, muffled moan slips from you, quietened by your hand as it flies up to cover your mouth.

As much as he’s desperate to hear you cry out for him, to hear you call his name and discover all the different, beautiful sounds you can make, tonight isn’t the night.

_Tonight is a secret._

He continues to lavish your neck and collarbones, leaving no part of them untouched, relishing in your body curling into him and trying desperately to get closer. His fingers trail up the back of your thigh, ever so lightly, but enough to be felt through your trousers, and he feels the limb tremble in response.

_I need her._

He releases your neck for a moment, face flushed and eyes almost glistening with need. Your own eyes open, reflecting the desire, showing how much you want him and he wants you.

And so he shares that feeling with you, holding you to him, worshipping your body like it’s the most precious of jewels. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, and even though it’s your first time, he makes it the most wonderful thing you’ve ever experienced. He envelops you in love and care, but also in passion and heat and pleasure. It’s addictive.

You will never, ever regret taking the risks you did for this.

Neither will Byron.

**†** **♛** **†**

It’s nearly midnight.

He cradles you against him, your back to him, arms locked around you protectively. You’re in your binder and underwear, while he’s bare-chested with his trousers back on. He rests his face behind your head, eyes closed and nose buried in your hair. You’re still trembling slightly, body trying its best to recover from everything you’ve just done. He listens to you breathe, paying attention to the little shudders and tremors running through you.

“Are you alright?” He mumbles into your hair at some point, moving his head to bury his lips in the crook of your neck. Your eyes open slowly, having been closed, and you stare out of the window while you answer.

“Yes.” You have already realised your body is still trembling, and your cheeks heat up slightly. “Sorry.”

His lips curl into a gentle smile. He presses a soft kiss to your throat, feeling you shudder against him and seeing your eyes close again. “For what?”

You try to speak around the pleasure coming from his lips on your neck, words coming out somewhat broken and slow. “For- I keep… shaking…”

He shakes his head just enough for you to feel it, tightening his grip on your waist. Your own head tips back, allowing to reach more of your skin, before a quiet sound of pleasure manages to escape you at the sensation of him sucking on your flesh. He releases it after a moment, leaving his mouth hovering over the spot while he murmurs,

“You truly apologise for the strangest of things.” A hint of a mischievous smile tugs at his lips, and he breathes out into your ear, “Assuming that I didn’t hurt you or make you uncomfortable, I rather enjoy seeing you like this.”

Your face burns at that. You turn your head, trying to hide your face in the pillow. “Byron!”

A low, rumbled laugh reverberates through him at your shyness. His fingers trail over your stomach, making your body arch back against him, still ever so sensitive from his addictive touch. “What?” He suppresses a smug smirk. “I love watching your body respond to me. It’s fascinating, and breathtaking all at the same time.” He nuzzles his face into your throat once more. “You’re beautiful, ___. There’s never a moment when you aren’t, be it mentally, physically or emotionally.”

Your insides clench, heat flushing through you. Everything in you swells with love and gratitude. “Thank you, Byron.” You turn your head enough to look him in the eye, reaching up to place a hand on his cheek. He rubs it into your palm, moving after a brief moment to kiss it tenderly. “You’re beautiful to me too, always, no matter what.”

Although he’s not exactly used to being called beautiful, he’s not remotely opposed to it. A surge of pleasant surprise rushes through him, causing him to smile once more. “Thank you.”

Eventually, you turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck. He holds you close to him, savouring the feeling of you there, safe and happy. Soon, you'll be separated, and after that, the war will start

You could both die. All of this will stop.

He’ll never be able to have you in his arms again.

You’re thinking the same thing.

You subconsciously tighten your grip on his throat. He does the same with your waist, trying to engrave this into his mind just like he’s done all night. You etch everything into your memories, all of your senses, all of your emotions and thoughts.

You don’t want to forget this. Neither does he.

It’s now that you remember you’ve got something to give him. You were supposed to give him it as you were about to leave, but then things didn’t exactly go to plan and you forgot about it.

Although reluctantly, you pull back from him, watching him watch you with mild curiosity. “I need to get something. It’s in my jacket.”

He wonders what it could be, but he relents nevertheless, releasing your body and letting you sit up. The absence of your body hits him immediately, and a sort of painful loneliness overtakes him. He has to restrain himself to stop him from catching your arm and tugging you back into his chest, but he manages regardless.

He studies you closely as you wrap the now thrown-back cover around yourself, then slide to the edge of the bed to pick your jacket up. You reach into one of the pockets for a few seconds, then pull something out and hold it in your palm.

_Better to give him this now._

You drop your jacket again, then crawl back to him, still holding the cover around yourself. He sits up, and you stop before him, kneeling down. “I was supposed to give you this earlier. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to, but…”

You trail off, letting your heart speak for you. “This is from both me and from my country. It’s a thank you for trusting in us and giving us a chance to redeem ourselves for everything the previous nobility and Stefan did. It’s also a thank you from me, for letting me experience more happiness in a few weeks than I have through probably my whole life. Thank you, for letting me experience what it’s like to love someone and trust in someone completely, when I’ve not been able to before.”

You hold your empty hand out for his, and he gives you it without hesitation. You turn his palm upward, then gently place the item in it. You hold his gaze, eyes completely serious. “Thank you, Byron. Thank you for everything. I hope we survive this, so we can do things like this again, so we can learn to feel more and understand more together.”

You pull your hands away. He lowers his gaze to his palm.

In it sits a dagger, the blade completely black and spotted with something else that glitters in the moonlight. It’s been made professionally, that much is obvious, from the intricately crafted handle and solid fixing. He turns it over, studying the blade and noticing its unique shape, for the most part straight but curved at the edge just slightly, one side full of tiny serrations so sharp he can see it’s absolutely lethal.

You start to speak again, softly, eyes fixed on the dagger. “That can cut through practically anything. It can even get through thin bones if used correctly, and will tear through any artery in the body with ease. It’s one of the most dangerous weapons we make back at home, with material that only we have as far as we’re aware of.”

You reach up to cup his face in your hand, murmuring, “I’m not giving you this to encourage you to hurt people, or encourage violence. I’m giving you it because you’re the only person in the world I would entrust something like this to. I want you to survive, and you even just having this with you will set my mind at ease a little bit. Like I said, I wouldn’t expect you to use it-”

He doesn’t say a word. Your words stab through him as if you’ve plunged the knife into his chest.

He tugs you forward with his free arm, sitting you on his lap and trapping you in an almost painful embrace. He clutches the dagger tightly, understanding entirely why you are giving it to him, burying his face in your throat. You freeze in surprise, confused by his actions. “Byron?”

“I will use it, to protect my knights and my people.” He almost feels it again, that strange sensation of crying. He forces it back, thinking that he shouldn’t cry at a time like this. He needs to give you his own gift.

But you feel the shift in his chest, hear the slight change in his voice. You can read people far too well.

He almost hates that you have the power to do this to him. Even though he is grateful for you being able to give him that experience, he doesn’t want to submit to it. He doesn’t want to be unable to control his emotions. He wants to stay strong.

You run your fingers through his hair, hushing him gently. “Byron, let it out. I can tell you from experience that running into battle, full of pent-up emotion, is the worst thing you can do.”

_Damn it all._

His fingers grip your middle and hip. It nearly hurts, but you say nothing, instead wrapping the cover around you both as if to let him cry in secret. His breath hitches, eyes becoming moist once more.

_What’s happening to me?_

He lets out a first, choked cry, unsure of what to do. He’s never done it before, so he doesn’t know how. He ends up letting the tears escape and stream down his face, breaths short and irregular, bolstered by frustration and confusion.

When your fingers brush over his earring, it only brings forth a surge of thoughts about his past, of Nico and how he came to be at the castle, of his father and how he used to treat the kingdom. It releases a flood of bottled-up emotions he never knew he’s repressed all through his life, showing itself in the first real tears he’s ever shed.

And all through it, you don’t say a thing. You simply remain there, crushed in his grip, legs on either side of his, cradling his head against your chest. You’re glad he’s crying. You’re glad he’s finally able to release everything he’s locked away for years on end, because holding them in only hurts in the long run. If he keeps waiting and pushing them back, it’ll only hit him so much harder when the time finally comes.

And it will come, you decide. He will survive.

It takes a long time for him to reign in his control again. He breathes unsteadily for a few moments, his tears finally drying up, and has to wait for a good while to be able to take in a deep breath. You leave light, fleeting butterfly kisses over his hair, still smoothing it down and wiping away the moisture on his cheeks.

You’re more than happy to do this for him. Even though your shoulder and chest is now damp from his tears, even though you think you’ll have bruises from his grip on your hip, you don’t mind. You want him to be human, to give in to his emotions from time to time and acknowledge the need to address them when they build up.

He finally settles his breathing out, feeling very odd and strange. It’s like a weight he’s subconsciously carried for years has finally left him, and now he feels stronger. It’s as if he’s been suffering without knowing it, thinking he’s been composed and in control, when in reality he’s still felt everything anyone else would have over the years. He’s just not had to capacity to feel those emotions, and has been deaf to the screaming of them from inside his mind.

Now, he has heard them all. He’s strong again.

When his eyes don’t feel swollen anymore and he’s back to his usual self, he pulls back from your shoulder to look you in the eye. You smile gently, eyes kind and tender. “Thank you, ___. I’m sorry for that.”

You shake your head, smoothing your thumbs over his cheekbones. “Don’t you dare apologise. Crying is natural. Doing it too often can be bad granted, but it’s not inherently wrong. Embrace it. You’re only human, Byron.”

He nods, more willing than ever to accept such a thought. Remembering that he needs to give you his gift as well, he leans over to the bedside table, still keeping you in his lap. He smiles, seeing your puzzled expression, but says nothing while he opens the top draw and takes out the black box sitting inside it, big enough to rest in both of his palms, sealed with a royal blue ribbon.

He closes the draw and sits straight again, moving back from you so that he can put the dagger down and hold his hand out for yours, like you did earlier. You give him it, and he does the exact same, turning your hand over to rest it atop your palm.

“It appears we thought along similar lines.” He starts, seeing you staring at him with surprise. “I was intending to give you this earlier, or tomorrow when we arrived on the battlefield somehow, but I forgot about it. I wanted to show you my appreciation for everything you’ve done, in helping with the war strategy, and doing all you have to encourage trade between nations who have, up until this point, barely spoken. All of our countries have prospered since you rose to power, and that’s something I’m grateful for.”

You open the ribbon, hesitantly taking the lid off. He smiles. “I thought you might not like something with little practical value, so decided to have these made for you. Sid told me that, while you fought with him, you used something similar.”

Inside the box, there are six slightly smaller knives inside, but clearly, from their design and style, they’re made not only for hand-to-hand combat. They’re throwing knives, sleek and the same colour as obsidian, no doubt extremely strong and versatile, glinting in the light of the moon. You’re not sure what they’re made of, but just by studying them, you can tell that they’re extremely dangerous.

The edges are serrated subtly, but you know the construction of weapons all too well, and you know that these will be absolutely lethal if they hit their mark.

But, there’s also something else in the box. Nestled above the throwing knives is what you identify as a whistle-type object, but it doesn’t look anything like a normal whistle. It’s long and thin at the bottom while wider at the top, shaped like a cone. It’s deathly black and made with undoubtedly strong, carefully made metal or stone.

Decorating it are tiny, tiny little crystals, dotted along the whistle, starting at the top right hand corner and winding down to the lower left, creating four streaks of crystals leading down to the bottom. They’re backed with what looks like silver, strong and secure, wrapped around the whistle’s body behind the crystals.

There are also four larger crystals lining the front, and in between the two above and below is a silver ring secured to it. It has a beautiful blue gem in the centre, set in a circle, full of different shades and hues. The whistle has a black cord attached to it, giving it the option to be hung around someone’s neck.

Your heart thunders in your chest, pounding away. You can’t take your eyes from it.

“We’ll be using whistles to signal each other through the battle, not only should we call on you and the other allied forces. This has a specific pitch which makes it distinctive, and will ensure that we know it’s you, and you will know it’s us. By using these, we can alert each other to our locations if we need to, and will know exactly where the other is if either of us are in trouble.” He explains lowly, reaching over to the drawer again.

He takes out a smaller box, with no ribbon but still black, before opening it. Inside, there is another whistle, identical to yours except that it has no ring secured to it. It has the same cord on it, and has the same colour, as well as the same four crystals. “I will have mine with me during the battle. It would put my own mind at ease if you would wear yours, so that I can know where you are should we need each other.”

You’re nodding before you even consider it. You’re still confused about the ring, though. “Thank you, Byron. Of course. I’ll use it to signal when we’re about to ride in if we’re needed, and anytime I need help, or if you need it.” You glance down at it, then meet his gaze again. “Can I ask something?”

He nods. You take in a breath, eyes lowering to the ring. “What’s the ring for?”

A gentle smile spreads across his lips. “It’s a promise ring. I learned about such a tradition in Wysteria, and thought that I’d like to give one to you.” He lifts your left hand up, touching his mouth to your ring finger lightly. Sparks flit through your nerves, thoughts racing. “It is attached to the whistle, and not separate for me to offer it to you, because this is how I am using its promise.”

He stares at you intensely, deeply, eyes burning right through you. “I promise you that we will survive this war. I promise that we’ll make it through and be together afterwards no matter what happens. When that happens, I will offer you this ring and promise whatever life you would honour me with, if that is what you wish. This I swear on my life, right now, so that I may promise you after the battle everything I want to, without a threat to it.”

Your heart is pounding again. It’s like a miracle, hearing those words from him, knowing that he wants a life with you. You want it so badly, not necessarily the textbook life everyone’s expected to have, but just any life where you can be his and he can be yours. Be it a life where you remain together secretly, where your relationship is known, or even a life where you become a queen, you’ll take it.

You nod again, more fiercely, heart and mind overflowing with emotion. “We will survive this.” You put the lid back on your box, and he takes it gently, placing it on the mattress beside him with his own. Then, he lightly brushes your hair out of your face, tipping your head back. Your eyes almost flutter closed, but you manage to whisper the words you want to say the most just as his lips come to hover over yours. “I love you, Byron.”

He cradles you close, curling an arm around your waist and pressing your body against his. He supports your head with the other hand, a soft, graceful smile adorning his lips. “I love you, ___.” You close your eyes, and his follow afterward. His mouth touches yours ever so slightly, drawing a breathy sigh from him while you shiver. “My queen.”

He kisses you ardently, consuming you, almost drowning you in him. He leaves you breathless and gasping for him, needing his touch, forcing him to stay close to you. Eventually, he lies down, hugging you against his chest. He kisses you until you eventually succumb to tiredness, falling into a deep sleep in his arms. He soon slips into the darkness as well, pulling the cover over you both, before going still.

And your blades are still sit at the end of the bed, his eyepatch sat in between them.

**†** **♛** **†**

You both wake up at four. There’s a sense of dread as soon as you both do, but neither of you speak a word.

There’s no time for you to have a bath, and even then, it would be too suspicious anyway. So, you simply get changed back into your clothes from yesterday, experiencing for the first time what it feels like to collect them from around a partner’s bedroom.

When you’re presentable, you retrieve the box with the daggers and whistle in it, taking the latter out and then sealing the box with the ribbon again. Byron gets changed himself, making sure he’s just as presentable, before taking his own whistle out, the dagger you gave him now strapped inside a holder he attached to his belt. He approaches you, watching you set the box on the bed, holding the whistle by its cord. You look up at him, asking quietly,

“Are you putting yours on now?” He nods, stopping inches away from you.

“Yes. We can’t guarantee that nothing will happen until tomorrow. It could start at any time, should someone on either side instigate it.” You nod back. You’ve been thinking the same thing.

“I’m putting mine on as well.” You look down at it, eyes rolling over the whole whistle, darting back to the ring for a second. He smiles slightly, taking hold of its cord.

“May I put it on you?” Your body flushes with warmth and an odd sense of joy, heartbeat picking up a little. It’s not like you need him to, but it’s just pleasant for him to do it, regardless. You nod, giving it to him. He lifts the cord over your head, settling it around your neck. Before he fixes it, he uses the cord to lean down, pulling you toward him. His lips press against your forehead in a tender, loving kiss, before he murmurs, “I swear to keep my promise. We will survive.”

He moves back again, letting the whistle drop inside your jacket and become hidden under it. You hold your hand out for his, and he gives it to you before you can even ask. You find yourself smiling back, eyes softening, as you lift the cord over his head. Deciding to mimic him, you lean up, using the cord to move him toward you. You kiss his forehead just as gently, responding to his words. “I’m counting on it, and I’ll do everything I can to ensure the promise is kept. We will survive.”

You let the whistle drop into his jacket, and it disappears like yours did. He catches your wrists, tugging you into a tight, intimate embrace. He hugs your middle and hips, and you hug his neck, faces buried in each other’s throats. You can’t hold back the words you’ve been avoiding saying now, because once you leave, you might not see him again until you’re on the battlefield. “Be careful. Protect yourself as well as other people.”

You’ve seen so many people lose it in battle, have seen so many destroy their minds afterward because of what they did in war, that you’re terrified of him doing the same. “I say this because of what I’ve seen of war myself. Remember what you’re fighting for. Don’t lose yourself in rage or revenge. If you do, it can ruin you. Please, for me, only fight as long as you need to and keep sight of who you’re fighting for.”

He stills against you. Of course this must be hard. He can’t imagine what you’ve seen in your civil war, nor can he hope to appreciate the horrors this war will bring to him before they happen. “I promise, I will never forget what and who I’m fighting for. I will only do what is necessary to ensure our victory.”

You nod mutely into his shoulder. There’s nothing more you can say.

Eventually, you let each other go, and you pick up the box again. He goes to the door, telling you quietly, “If you go now, you should be back for just before six. It’s early, so the bureaucrats shouldn’t be out and about yet, either.”

You’d much rather go now, and then you might be back before everyone wakes up to be ready for moving out. “I’ll go now.”

He opens the door wordlessly, taking a moment to check that the corridors are empty. Then, he steps out, beckoning for you to come out. You slip past him and into the hallways quickly, standing away from him enough so that, if someone were to see you now, it wouldn’t be immediately obvious that you’ve just come from his chambers.

He closes the door, giving you a small smile. “Shall we?”

You nod, smiling back gently. “Yeah.”

He escorts you through the silent corridors, walking close to you and keeping in pace with you rather than going faster. Something about that, such a small action, makes you smile again, just a tiny one that tugs at your lips. He observes this when he glances down at you, and he can barely suppress his own in response. “What is it?”

A blush creeps up your cheeks. You look away, feeling suddenly shy and embarrassed by your thoughts. “It’s nothing. It was just an absent thought.”

Assuming that it’s something best questioned in private, rather than in the corridors, he simply nods. He’s secretly wondering what it is, though.

While going through the castle, several guards ask where Byron’s going and why you’re both up at such a time. Byron explains that you’re leaving now to ensure that you’ll be home and ready to move out to the battlefield, and although they seem suspicious, they can’t say anything against him and let you go.

Before too long, you’re outside, and the early morning wind is like a whip of ice cracking at your skin. You tighten your cloak around you, pulling your hood around your neck more. You’ll put it up once you’re away from the castle, so the guards won’t try anything.

He leads you to the stables, where he takes you in and locates your horse. You go over to her with a smile, and she lets out a delighted whinny, stretching her neck out toward you. You give her face a gentle hug and kiss her nose briefly, feeling a sense of comfort from having her there. “Hey. Let’s go home, yeah? I bet you miss Xander and Tobias, huh?”

She butts her face against yours slightly. You pat her nose, opening the latches on the gate to her stall. You take a few minutes to get her gear on, making sure she’ll be nice and warm and that everything’s in the right place, as well as ensuring that she’s had some food and water.

Then, you lead her out. Byron comes with you, before he closes the stable doors and walks with you around the side of the castle. He escorts you to the over the bridge and to the gates, where you both stop. You glance up at the sky, seeing it still dark, but the sun’s fire is peeking very slightly over the eastern horizon.

You need to get going.

You turn back to him, nodding with a barely existent smile. You grab the saddle and haul yourself up, onto your horse’s back, in one smooth motion, feeling her move slightly to get used to your weight before going still. Byron watches this, aching to drag you back and make you stay, heart lurching and squeezing painfully.

_Why does it have to be like this?_

“What’s wrong?” You murmur the question quietly, seeing him staring at you. He shakes his head, deciding to leave it alone.

“It’s nothing. Be careful on your way back, and watch out for any bandits near the borders.” He dismisses it, adding the last bit in a sincere voice. You raise an eyebrow, but you nod nonetheless, knowing you’ll take too long if you press him about it. You grab the reins and pull your hood up, muttering,

“Trust me, if I run into bandits, they’ll be the ones needing to watch themselves.” That earns a tiny, tiny little smile from him. He’s worried, obviously, because he loves you and the thought of you being hurt in the slightest is agony for him, but he is aware that you can take care of yourself. He doesn’t doubt that you would almost definitely be able to take bandits on and win with little or no resistance.

“Fair point.” He breathes out, shaking his head just a little bit.

Your eyes soften marginally, voice doing the same. “I’ll be fine. Focus on getting the rest of your knights ready and to the border as fast as possible, and be diligent. It could start at any time. It’s been unnaturally diplomatic in how we’ve organised this, and we’re lucky that this has only come to one battle rather than separate ones. But, that means it would be logical to expect dirty tricks to be played. Be on your guard.”

A glow of love takes over your eyes, just enough that he can see it. “Good luck, Byron. Trust in yourself and others, and do your best. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

His own eye mirrors the emotion. He inclines his head, stepping back from the horse. “I will, and I expect that you’ll do the same.” Seeing your kind smile and nod, he sighs quietly, forcing out the words he doesn’t want to say. “Good luck, ___. We’ll only use it if it’s necessary.”

He turns to the guards at the gates now, far away enough that they can’t have heard your conversation. “Guards, open the gates. General ___ will be returning home now.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” They both respond, unlocking and opening the gates without further question. You tuck your cloak around yourself tightly, making sure you’re ready for the ride.

You glance back at him once more, etching the face of the man you love into your mind. He does the same, taking in every single detail he can.

At the exact same time, you both nod, sharing a last, secret, gentle look.

And then you pull the reins, tapping your horse’s sides and ripping your gaze from him. “Yah!”

She lurches into motion, bolting away from the castle and though the gates. Byron stares after you, that awful loneliness almost suffocating him once more. He feels like he’s betrayed both of you by letting you leave, since now you’re out of his reach and he can’t help you, but he also feels like that was your last goodbye.

He doesn’t want it to be goodbye. He never wants to have to speak those words to you.

You focus on the biting wind to distract yourself from your emotions. As the houses of the town blur past you, as your horse gallops steadily through Stein, you force yourself to not think about him. You do something you haven’t done in a long time and complete detach yourself, silencing all thoughts and conscious processes in your mind.

You can’t bear to think about what it means to be leaving. You won’t think about the war you’re riding straight into.


	12. Part XII | Preparation. Encampment. Truth. The Final Wait.

†♛†

You arrive home without a problem.

You know it’s about quarter to six when you reach the stables, where you get your horse sorted and taken care of. Then, you go to where the carts are carrying all the supplies that’ll be needed for the battle, seeing that about half of it has been loaded. The rest is still scattered around various places nearby.

_Right. Let’s take some of the work load off the knights._

You start to load the stuff up methodically, grouping it all and putting it on the relevant carts. Weapons, armour, food, water, medical supplies, items for any diplomatic activities… you lose count of all the separate things there are.

But it’s good, doing this. It takes your mind off Byron, keeping it occupied and focused, preventing it from slipping into what you’ve accepted and acknowledged as being loneliness. You’d much rather just get it done, so that the others can use their time doing any final preparation, or just de-stressing and making sure they’re ready for this.

You’re so caught up in getting it done that you don’t even notice the amount of supplies getting lower and lower, and then you find yourself empty-handed, with nothing left to put in the carts. You blink slowly, looking around to check you haven’t missed anything.

_Nothing else, huh?_

You count the supplies in the carts, then check again, and a third time just in case. It’s all there, the exact amount that you said would be needed for all the knights. There is already a mass of them at the location, but you and the rest have yet to arrive, as is the same with the other nations. This is the supplies for those moving out today.

_Oh. I’m done._

You yawn, feeling the strain of your muscles from all the lifting and carrying. You feel better, though, with it all done and ready for everyone else. Looking up at the sky, you see that it’s probably about seven, and you internally smile in praise at yourself for doing it so quickly.

“___?”

You turn around, seeing Xander and Tobias sprinting over from the direction of the castle. You give them a nod, and they come to a stop in front of you, looking both angry and confused.

“Where the hell were you, ___?” Tobias immediately questions, tone frustrated.

“I know you said it could run overnight, but I didn’t think it would actually happen.” Xander asks, frowning slightly.

Trying not to blush at the thought of how you spent the night with Byron, you just sigh, stretching and answering coolly, “It was hard to decide on a compromise that would work best for Stein and us, but one that wouldn’t then have a negative effect on anyone else. It was beyond dark before we finished. I would normally have come back even during the night-time, but I thought it would have been a bit counterproductive if I’d have got shot in the forest the day before the war.”

Tobias scowls. “You should have just let us come, and then you would have been able to come back without any worry about your safety.”

_They have no clue what’s really going on. I almost feel bad for not telling them._

You just exhale slowly, squinting as the sun creeps up from behind the houses and casts an early morning glow right in your eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would work out like that either, but there’s no point moaning over it now. I’m here.”

Xander shakes his head, eyeing the supplies. “So, you came back, no doubt shattered from going over there and being on your own, then having to return early, and what have you done?” You crack a smile, able to hear his words before he even speaks them. “You do more goddamn work. This needs to stop, ___. You’re going to keel over one day and it’ll be your fault because you’ll have exhausted yourself to death.”

Your smile fades. Sleeping forever doesn’t sound too bad. “As long as we’ve won the war and the region is safe by that point, I don’t care. If home is secure and opening up to other nations, I’m happy.”

_But I do care, in a sense. I would care because it would mean I’d be leaving Byron._

Tobias chops you on the top of the head, growling, “Don’t say that. Don’t you even dare.”

You sigh, feeling a bit bad now that you think about it. “Sorry. I think I just can’t wait for this to be over.”

Tobias scowls, but then he lets out a long, slow breath, muttering, “We’re all the same. It’s nearly time, though, so don’t give up yet. We all need you.”

_I can’t let anyone else see how exhausted I am. All I have to do is get them through the war, or at least the battle which will probably start and end it._

“Yeah. I know.” You nod, eyeing the castle while squinting again at the brightness of the sun. “I’m going to go and get ready. Make sure everyone’s prepared to move out at eight sharp.”

Xander nods. “Of course. Make sure you take a minute to relax, ___, or you’re seriously going to die from stress.”

You find yourself laughing at that, joking, “You think stress can kill me? I’m cursed with being unable to die.” Ignoring Tobias’ snapped scolding, you walk off toward the castle, musing to yourself, “Once shot with an arrow and drowned, once stabbed and majorly wounded in battle, and a time almost drowned. Someone in hell doesn’t want me to come down yet.”

The next hour is spent with you bathing, then changing into your war gear. Because the battle shouldn’t be starting today, you’re only putting the protection against stab wounds that goes under your normal clothes. Still, it takes a while to fix it all and get used to the extra weight. Once you’re ready, you get everything you need, like all your weapons, the knives from Byron, any maps and plans required and the likes.

Eventually, you go outside, making your way to the rendezvous point. You find your horse among the carts and troops, fastening your stuff onto her side and making sure it’s not too heavy. You can hear the knights murmuring amongst themselves, some of them nervous, some dreading it, some excited, some solemn. You don’t quite know what you’re feeling yourself. Your thoughts have quietened; just like they did before you started the civil war.

You’re just… waiting. You feel nothing.

Maybe Stefan’s training is kicking in again, stopping you from endangering yourself with your emotions.

You glance over at one of your commanders, asking him, “What time is it?”

He pulls out a pocket watch, peering at it for a moment. “Half seven, General ___.”

You nod. You’re going to be ready early. “Good. This is everyone, isn’t it?” You scan the long, large line of knights, estimating their numbers and feeling confident that everyone is accounted for. The commander nods, to which you nod back. “Okay. We’ll get going, then.”

You mount your horse in one smooth, fluid motion, drawing the attention of the knights. They watch you turn to them atop your horse, calling out, “Everyone! Listen to me!” Their murmurs quickly silence, all eyes on you. “We’re leaving in a moment. But first, I just want to say something.”

You start to ride down the line, speaking to those atop horses, in carts and on their feet. “There is purpose in us assisting the surrounding nations in this matter. You all know that I despise war. You all know that I would never have allowed us to enter into this one if I didn’t think we needed to. I do. That is for certain; by doing this, we secure ourselves allies.”

You let out a slow breath, tone solemn. “The war was going to happen regardless, and afterward, things will be hard. Economies will suffer and trading will be hit. We cannot afford that when we have no allies, and by assisting in this, we will be both minimising the damage caused to the nations who wish us no harm, and will be bettering our own diplomatic position.”

You’re halfway down the line now. You meet the eyes of every knight as you go. “I will be with you all the way. If we’re called into battle, I will fight. I will remain amongst you, will fight with you, _all_ of you, until either we win or we die. I will not surrender to anyone. The minute I stop fighting will be the minute when I cannot fight, because I am nearing death and don’t have the power to do it any longer. No matter what happens if we ending up fighting, none of you will be alone. I will be there with you.”

You reach the back. You pause there, bringing your horse to a gentle stop. “We will fight for our country. We will fight for the freedom we’ve already shed blood, sweat and tears for. Once this is out of the way, we will be in a safer position. There aren’t any nations who we share a border with that want conflict with us, so once we eliminate the prospect of a further threat from Protea and its allies, there will be very little chance of us going to war again any time soon.”

You unsheathe your sword, arcing it to the side in a powerful, smooth motion. “So, I will ask this of you all one last time. I hope that I will never have to lead anyone into a war ever again. Will you all fight with me? Will you protect our home with me and ensure our future, together? Will you stand by me?”

The cheers and roars are deafening. The knights on the side of the troops near you take out their own swords, and the one at the back holds his up to you. You give him a fierce nod, touching your own sword to his. “Then let us go! Let us do this one last time, and then we can live in the peace we’ve been deprived of for so long! We can be happy, at long last! No more fighting! No more war! No more suffering! We will live for the first time!”

“We will live for the first time!” They echo, voices determined, proud and strong.

“Yah!” You tap your horse’s sides, spurring her into a gallop. As you go down the line, your sword touches those of every knight’s on the side, giving you a sense of indescribable camaraderie, of bonding and security. These are your people. These are your friends. This is your home and the country you brought out of tyranny. You will make it safe once more.

Once you get to the front, where Xander and Tobias are waiting, they hold their swords toward you, crossing them over. You grin, putting yours between them. There’s another deafening round of cheers; the three of you mainly orchestrated the revolution and were the primary drivers behind everything that happened, and so you know the people get a sense of safety from seeing the three of you lead again.

“Let’s go! To the border!”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

You look back, over your shoulder, as you start to ride away from your country, sheathing your sword again. You take in every inch, studying every house and field and citizen waving you all off, engraining it in your memory.

_Home is what I fight for._

You nod to yourself, entering the forest, heading toward Stein.

_Byron is what I’m fighting for as well._

You share a long, intense look with Xander and Tobias. There is nothing but trust and certainty on their faces.

_People like these two are what I fight for._

Finally, you touch the blade on your left wrist inside your sleeve, proof of your life and existence, of everything you’ve done and been through.

_I am what I am fighting for._

†♛†

 

It’s a long process to get to the location, and it takes hours to finally enter the camp where the rest of your knights are waiting, but you get there without a problem.

The camp is the space of the large hill which stands before the battle site, the ground raised up naturally to tower over the surrounding area. By walking to the edge, maybe one hundred foot from where the camp is, you can peer over to see the area where the battle will take place. Doing so is prohibited and both your knights, as well as Laurelian ones, stand guard near it, ensuring no one tries to look over.

If they did, the Proteans could realise that you’re all there and the plan would be ruined.

Knights from Stein escort you there once you near the border, ensuring that you aren’t attacked by anyone on the way. Upon arriving, it’s a hectic extra hour of getting supplies to where they are needed, and of setting up the additional tents for the knights arriving. Then, you make your way to the other side of the camp, where you know the Laurelian troops are waiting.

What you don’t expect to see is the Laurelian king, stood near the edge of the hill, just behind the line of knights guarding it. He turns to you with a kind smile as you approach, greeting you pleasantly. “Good morning, General ___. How unfortunate, that we must meet again under such grave circumstances.”

You force down your shock, instead bowing deeply, silently shouting at Xander and Tobias to do the same at your sides. “Good morning, Your Majesty. It’s extremely unfortunate. I can only hope that it will come to an end without the need for our intervention.”

He steps closer to you, placing a gentle, cautious hand on your shoulder. “Rise, General.” You stand up straight, inwardly sighing in relief, when you see Xander and Tobias straighten up as well. He keeps his hand there, but it doesn’t feel threatening. It’s friendly, a show of support. “I too hope for that, but if we are needed to fight, we will do our very best to bring this to a swift end.”

You nod, your voice sure and confident. “As will we. We will do our utmost to make it as brief as possible.”

He nods back, gaze gentle and soft. He removes his hand, glancing toward the hill. “Ah, I never thought I’d end up in a war. How times change, indeed.” He looks back to you. “You have the signal with you?”

You nod again, retrieving the whistle from your pocket. You thought it would be marginally awkward to have to pull it out from under your jacket when first showing it. “Yes. King Byron has one identical to this, so his will make the same sound if they call on us.”

He peers at it in your palm, inspecting it. “May I have a look at it?”

Your heart skips. He’ll see the ring.

But you can’t exactly say no, can you?

“Of course.” You hold it out to him, watching him take it carefully and gingerly. His lips turn up in a soft smile, eyes gracing over it, taking in every detail. When he speaks, his voice is thoughtful, but has an almost teasing edge to it.

“My, my. King Byron informed me that he had crafted them for himself, as the main representative of their troops, and for you, the representative of our troops. I wonder why he decided to secure a ring to it.” You heart is thundering away again. You try to keep your expression blank while he looks up, tilting his head. “Perhaps it’s a Steiner tradition of some sort? Maybe a show of alliance?” When you say nothing, simply nodding mutely, he grins widely. “But I think it might just mean something else.”

He hands it back now, his voice returning to normal. “Would you accompany me on a walk, General ___? I’d like to speak to you in private.”

Shit. He knows. He must have worked it out.

_Damn you, Byron! It was too obvious! I couldn’t have said no to showing him, since it’s their signal as well! What am I supposed to do?_

“Of course.” Ignoring your mental turmoil, you send Xander and Tobias a quick glance. “Make sure everyone’s set up and ready to move at any time. Things could escalate at any point. Don’t let anyone relax or drop their guards.”

They both bow, stepping back. Xander speaks, tone respectful. “Yes, General ___.”

You walk with the Laurelian king, going around the fringes of the camp. You both remain far away enough from the knights that they can’t hear you. “I wished to speak with you privately, because I’ve had a growing suspicion for some time now, General ___.”

You force your expression to remain blank, simply responding, “About what, Your Majesty?”

He smiles gently, staring up at the sky. “You see, King Byron has been acting rather strangely of late. Although we’ve had only brief periods of interaction since Stein has not long opened up to the other nations, I’m rather good at reading people.” He sends you a grin. “And, to put it simply, no ruler, especially one like King Byron, would kneel before a newly instated leader like the way he did with you.”

Your insides twist, mind recalling the moment when he stunned the entire ballroom and the nations of the region. “I cannot say why he did it, Your Majesty, but I assumed it was a show of respect for the work of my people in ridding our country of corruption.”

He nods, tilting his head again. “As did I.” Your pulse picks up again. “But then, I witnessed for myself how eager he was to make trade agreements with your nation, despite being a conservative ruler and being suspicious of trading with countries he doesn’t fully trust. That, and he defended you immediately from the late Protean Prime Minister, along with remaining close to you all through the cultural exchange before it turned awry.”

You remain silent, not wanting to give him any information straight from you to confirm what he’s leading up to. He laughs lightly. “General ___, I say this not to antagonise you. I am simply telling you that, although I of course can’t be certain, I am quite sure he holds strong feelings for you, and I am just as sure that you possess the same feelings for him.”

Your stomach lurches, mind flying into a panic.

_Shit. Shit. Shit! No! We can’t deal with this right now!_

“General ___.” He places a hand on your shoulder again, stopping. You pause as well, watching him watch you. “You will face no opposition from Laurelia. We will give you full support in this, and will do whatever we can to assist should there be issues.”

You need to stop him, to make him think he's wrong. He drops his hand. “Your Majesty, with all due respect-”

“You need not deny it, because of two things. Firstly, no person gives someone else a whistle so intricate, and gives them a ring with it, without holding some sort of emotion toward them.”

You bite your tongue.

“Secondly, I already consulted with King Byron early this morning when we all first arrived, before we split into our respective groups. I may or may not have pried the answer from him, since he attempted to deny it like you are, but I am aware of the fact that you are in a relationship. I swore to silence, worry not, I will tell no one.”

_Byron… what did he say to you, to get you to tell him? You wouldn’t have told him if you had any other choice._

You turn your face away for a moment, thinking, trying to process things. What are you supposed to do?

“What did you say to King Byron, to make him tell you? We said we weren’t going to tell anyone, regardless.” You finally ask quietly, facing him slowly. Your heart churns in your chest with an odd sensation, a mix of panic, fear and what feels like betrayal. You thought Byron would never, ever tell anyone.

The king sighs softly, expression kind. “I warned him that it was already very much obvious that he had an interest in you, from the first time you both met, and that it had not gone unnoticed by the nobilities of the nations who attended the ball. As such, suspicions have been stirring since then, only bolstered by the things I mentioned just before. The bureaucrats from at least Laurelia, Stein and Wysteria have already made their assumptions and are quite certain about them.”

You freeze, thoughts whirling.

Byron must have heard rumours if they were going around Stein. He must have known that the nobles were onto it. So, why didn’t he tell you? Why didn’t he say something, to warn you about it?

Seeing your shock, the king continues, tone becoming more serious. “King Byron made a decision on pure impulse. It was not something he would have naturally done, but I imagine it was emotions he probably didn’t know how to deal with that made him do something so rash. As such, it was rather difficult not to assume something, and it was only made more certain as time went on.”

You frown slightly, murmuring, “I wasn’t aware of any rumours.”

He nods, expression sombre. “I imagine he might have not told you in an attempt to alleviate any extra stress and worry from being placed on you. As much as he has shown little emotion within the time I’ve known him, the things he has done since meeting you have spoken volumes.”

He lets out a breath now, facing you straight and staring down at you with unnaturally intense eyes. “If you would, General ___, I’d like you to come with me for a while.”

Your instincts immediately start kicking in, body going on the defensive instantly. “Where, and why, if I might ask?”

He doesn’t smile now. “I would like you to join me in the tent used for strategising. It will provide us with more privacy. As for why, to put it simply…”

His eyes drop to your hair, then take in your hues once more, before he narrows his own at your left ear.

_What?_

“I seem to recall seeing a little girl at a soirée a long time ago, with your hair, with your eyes, and with the same scar behind her ear that you have.”

_My scar… the first one I got from the castle, from getting a question wrong…_

“And I recall that said little girl was Stefan Lineal’s daughter.”

You immediately take a step back. You can feel your body tensing, readying for a fight. You go to speak, but he holds a hand out to you, the gesture obviously meant to be unthreatening. “Wait. I understand that you are reacting like this because you think I will cause you problems. Until I know who you are, I have no reason to. Before we go to battle, I want to know who I am fighting alongside. I want to know if you have been honest with all of the nations.”

“I have.” The words come out harshly, without you meaning for them to, before you can even stop or soften them. “My name is ___ _____. I am nineteen years old and I am of common birth. I have never once lied about that.”

He nods slowly, seeming to be careful with his own phasing now. “I didn’t think you had. As far as I know, Stefan Lineal only ever had a son, who was exiled from the country when he was sixteen. I had never heard of a female heir being borne by Stefan’s queen, nor did I understand why said child was only seen for the first time when she was six years of age. But, I do know that the little girl looked undoubtedly similar to yourself, and would be nineteen right now.”

You remember his only other son, his failed attempt at an heir. You don’t even want to think about him.

_Damn you, Stefan. Damn you for doing this to me. Even in death, you still haunt me._

You can’t lie. There’s no point.

_They had to find out at some point. He deserves to know who he’s fighting with._

“Let us go to the tent, and then we can discuss this in private.” You murmur, trying to loosen your muscles. It doesn’t work. He nods once more.

“Of course.”

†♛†

Half an hour has passed. The King of Laurelia knows who you are.

You explain to him your life in brief detail, so as to not leave out things which verify what you’re saying, but keep it as concise as possible to save time. You speak very quietly, very lowly, sat on one of the plush seats in the tent. It would be impossible for anyone more than five feet away to hear you, and the tent is large, so there isn’t anyone else around to eavesdrop.

When you’re done, you stare at the battle plan on the map before you, sat on a table. It’s the one you fixed up with Byron, Albert and Nico yesterday. It’s quiet for a long while as the king thinks through everything you’ve told him.

_Please, don’t ruin everything now. I’ve worked too hard for this. Please understand._

“… may I tell you something that is my truly honest opinion, General ___?”

You don’t lift your eyes. You nod mutely, voice weakened from speaking for so long. He’s silent for a moment. You finally look up, seeing him watching you with the same look you’ve been given too many times.

Sympathy. Sadness. Sorrow. Mourning. Pity.

But at the same time, there’s respect. There’s understanding.

“I think, of all the people I’ve ever met in my entire life, I have never had the privilege of meeting someone more suitable for rule. I have never met someone who is what every king, queen, prince and princess should be like; a leader, but one who doesn’t separate from their people.”

You go completely still, your heartbeat quickening. You didn’t expect that at all.

He smiles kindly once more, sitting up straighter in his seat. “Everything you’ve said makes sense; I know you are not lying to me. I’m very good at spotting liars, believe me.”

He holds your gaze, never once looking away. “You have my full, unconditional support. I want your country to be Laurelia’s ally, formally, officially. You’ve already shaken the foundations of the political world, in a very short amount of time, and I want you to keep doing it. I want to build a better world, with fairer politics and societies that will benefit everyone. I believe that you can help me with that.”

He holds his hand out across the table. “Will you help me, General ___? Will you give me the honour of fighting with you, and then assisting in making the world a better place when we emerge victorious?”

You realise in this moment that what you said to Byron is absolutely, completely true. Not every king and queen is cruel. Not all monarchies are based upon disgusting abusers of power with too much wealth and influence. Some of them can be kind, fair and just. Some of them have beautiful personalities. And some of them only want happiness for their people.

This king is one of the ones who wants to help people. This is a man you can and will trust. You know his intentions are pure.

You reach out, taking his hand. You both shake firmly, and he sends you a beaming smile. “Thank you, General ___.”

You nod, giving the smile back calmly. “Thank _you_ , Your Majesty, for giving me a chance. Thank you for believing in me and my country.”

You both let go. He stands, and you do the same. He motions toward the tent’s entrance, and you make your way out with him. After a moment, though, you recall something. “Wait. Have you and your knights heard the whistle yet?”

He shakes his head. “No, we have not.”

Right. “We should do that, then, to ensure that everyone will be able to identify it once things start.” He nods back.

With some complicated order and time, you have all of the troops, both Laurelian and your own, massed behind the camp, away from the edge of the hill so as to not allow it to be heard by Byron’s side. A messenger still rides down while everyone is brought together, though, with a warning that you will be demonstrating the signal to all the troops. He returns with a note saying that all of the leaders down there understand, and that they won’t react if they hear anything, but to do it as quietly as possible.

The Laurelian king speaks when this is received, calling out to the troops, “As you have all been told, when the battle is underway, whenever it happens, we will be permanently waiting for a signal from King Byron, or one of our allies, if he is for some reason unable to.”

You feel physically nauseous for a second.

_Unable to, meaning that he will have been hurt or even killed, and that someone will have had to take the whistle from him to blow it and call for help._

The king gestures to you. “The signal comes in the form of a whistle. General ___ has an identical copy of said whistle, and so will be the one to send the signal back when we are ready to enter the battlefield, and this will be the call for the troops down there to retreat.”

You take over now, pulling the whistle out. “This is it. I’ll have it on me at all times and so will be ready to use it at any given moment. I’m going to use it now, quietly, so that everyone knows what it sounds like; if you hear this, it means that you should immediately get into position and be ready for battle in your designated place. When we’re in formation and ready to move, once you hear it again, there will be thirty seconds for the troops down there to retreat, and then we will move.”

Since the knights are split into troops, and have gaps between them, you decide to do it column by column. “I’ll walk down this column first,” You explain, gesturing to the leftmost one. “And then circle back down the next one and so and so forth, until everyone’s heard it.”

Ignoring the many eyes on you as much as possible, you bring the whistle up to your lips. You make sure to hide the ring with your fingers while you hold it. Then, you make your way to the gap, blowing out lightly.

The sound that emanates from the whistle is very soft, a strange sort of peal that doesn’t hurt to listen to. It’s almost like a voice, a soothing, gentle, single-note song. It’s out of place, considering the circumstances.

You blow a bit harder, so that everyone in the troops will be able to hear it, while making your way down the gap. You move swiftly, since you have full confidence in that you’ll pass out if you take too long expelling air like this. Once you reach the top, you briefly ask if the troops on both sides of you heard it alright. When there’s a murmur of confirmations, you go to the gap between the next two columns of troops, doing it again, letting them listen.

And so, it goes on like this for a good ten minutes or so, and by the time you reach the end of the last columns, your head is spinning just a little. You pause, taking a moment to put the cord around your neck and tuck the whistle inside your jacket, simultaneously giving yourself time to breathe again.

When this is done, you return to the king, standing beside him. “So, if you hear that whistle, it means we’re moving in and you need to get in formation. When I use mine, get ready to move in thirty seconds. Understood?”

There are nods from across the troops. You nod back. “Good. You’re all dismissed. Be ready to move at any time.”

They all salute in synchronisation, which makes you smile inwardly, since half are from one country and half are from another, and yet they all did the same thing.

You turn to the king. He grins, bobbing his head approvingly. “Excellent. Well, as excellent as it can be in this situation.”

You smile softly in return, sighing lightly. “And now, we wait. This is the worst part.”

He tilts his head. “Oh?”

You look out to the edge of the hill, and at the clouds in the distance. The wind whips around you, chilly but not icy yet. That’s probably not encouraging, considering it’s only the early evening. “When we set everything up for our revolution, putting it all together was fine. There weren’t any nerves doing it. We just got on with it and were focused on making sure everything was ready.”

You shake your head slightly, recalling the dark time. “After that, though, we had to wait. We could only launch the attack at a certain moment, and the window of opportunity was tiny. I think, when it came down to it, we had about forty seconds to start it all. But when we did, those forty seconds involved us breaching the castle, getting past the defences and taking out all of Stefan’s guards.”

You look back at him, raising an eyebrow. “So, waiting for that, knowing that once things start going, you can’t go back and have to just do it, it can be pretty unnerving. It’s impossible not to worry, even unconsciously. We had to wait to see if everyone across the country had done their jobs right, wait to see if anyone who shouldn’t have died had been killed…” You allow yourself a tiny, slightly bitter smile. “And to see if anyone who should have died had survived, I suppose.”

He’s quiet for a few moments. Then, he nods very slowly, gazing up at the sky. “I think you’re right. It is rather unpleasant, waiting for something that could happen at any time.”

You nod back. “Time is the greatest torture of all.”

†♛†

The evening goes by, dragging, every second like a minute.

You end up in your tent from about twelve until six in the morning, having your allotted sleep; the Laurelian king slept in the evening just after you spoke, until twelve, so that at least one leader would be awake at all times. When you get up at six, your stomach immediately ties itself in knots.

_Today’s the day. Today, all of us could die._

You get out of the make-do bed and go outside, seeing that the sun’s still low on the horizon despite your elevated position.

As soon as you set foot outside the tent, though, an awful, horrific, familiar sensation washes over you. Your instincts start screaming, that primal sensation skittering up your back, warning you to run. Danger is coming, and quickly.

Xander and Tobias have been guarding your tent while you slept, and now they look at you, stood between them. Seeing your stiffness and the tension in your expression, their slightly sleepy body language vanishes, replaced with alert caution. You speak before they can ask. “Wake everyone up. Now. Something’s happening.”

They both freeze momentarily, surprised. Then, they bolt off without hesitation, trusting your instincts like they always have.

Because your instincts are never wrong. They’ve never once lied to you. They’ve never once failed you.

You all but sprint to the edge of the hill, where you see a group of your knights stood with some Laurelian ones. They’re talking amongst themselves, low and terse and almost hostile. “Oi!” You call, not too loudly, but enough to get their attention. They turn to you immediately. “What’s going on? What happened?”

One of your knights speaks, firing out rapidly, “We can hear noises from down there. We don’t know what’s going on, but we can’t look to see.” He points to the trees covering the right side of the hill, then gestures to another knight’s hand, which holds what you can see is a telescope. “We were saying to use the tree to see what’s going on, but these guys are saying it’ll be impossible. But, if we don’t do that, we can’t look at all.”

You almost roll your eyes. Almost. “Anything is better than nothing. At least try it.” You go over to the knight, holding your hand out for the telescope. He gives it to you without question, seeing the burning power and focus in your eyes. “I can feel it. Something’s happening, now. Get yourselves ready.”

They watch you stalk toward the nearest, most shielded tree and many of them make sounds of shock or confusion. One of the Laurelians speaks, exclaiming, “General ___, you won’t be able to climb that tree! None of us would; the branches are too high!”

You send him a withering look. “Really.” You strap the telescope to a spare loop on your weapons belt, backing up from the tree. “Watch me.”

You bolt forward, gaining momentum quickly. Without hesitating, you push up its side using your speed, catching the nearest branches and heaving straight away. You practically fly up and into the branches, hearing the gasps and laughs from below.

_Idiots._

You climb up, finding a branch to perch on while remaining hidden. Once you’re draped over it and secure, you take the telescope out, peeking through the gap in the leaves at the battlefield.

Your heart stops for a long few moments.

Both Byron’s side and Protea’s side have moved onto the battlefield. You spot Byron, sat atop his horse, shouting across the field, to who you see is a Protean commander.

_Byron… he’s safe, for now._

Both sides have withdrawn their swords and are seemingly ready to fight, slinging harsh words at each other. You watch as the Protean commander glances behind him, at something you can’t see. The shouting lulls for a moment.

But then you hear something, far too clearly, far too well, as the commander thrusts his sword into the air.

_“Charge!”_

_This is it._

You practically throw yourself through the branches of the tree, moving in a blur. You swing yourself down, landing a bit heavily on the grass, before lurching forward. The Laurelian king is there, looking concerned, now dressed in heavy armour. You chuck the telescope to one of the Laurelian knights nearby, one who was arguing with your knights. “Get up there. Keep an eye on things. Do. Not. Fall. Down. Understood?”

He nods swiftly, looking completely petrified. You ready your weapons, making sure everything’s in the right place, before using a low whistle to summon your horse. While you wait, you turn to the king, seeing the troops massed behind him, both yours and his. The ones who will be riding aren’t on their horses yet, but they’re ready to mount at any time. “It’s starting.”

He nods, expression grave. Your horse gallops over to you, and you waste no time in mounting her, galloping through the centre of the troops. “It’s starting! They’re fighting right now, so we could be called in at any minute! Be ready! Make sure you have everything you need, right now! We might not be called in at all, called on in ten hours, or in ten minutes! We don’t know, but we have to be ready! Understood?”

There’s a collection of nods; they were already instructed prior to coming here not to shout unless it’s on the battlefield. You ride to the front again, sliding off your horse and patting her side.

All of the troops are in armour now, and you quickly return to your tent, fastening yours on. It’s not full armour that covers every inch of you, since the use of such protection has declined heavily and standard war regalia are more worn now, but in the region, the countries still adopt this type. It simply covers the main body parts, like the legs, arms and main part of the chest, although there is a separation around the waist to allow movement. The shoulders are also covered.

The Wysterian armour for their knights is white, and they wear theirs all the time, whereas Steiner armour is black and only worn in war.

Your country’s armour is the same, except that the cape is a deep, dark crimson. Yours is made from a lighter but stronger material than most, one that is only found in parts of the region which fall within your country’s borders, the same used for weapons and the dagger you gave to Byron.

Unfortunately, you weren’t able to produce much for the other nations for this war, because of the constricted timing, but you did manage to supply enough for the commanders of each allied army. Although you don’t think the commanders are any more valuable than the knights, by keeping the commanders alive, it can help the knights to remain confident.

Once you’re ready, you emerge from the tent. There are gasps, murmurs and sounds of amazement at your changed appearance, but you don’t remotely respond to them. You’re too busy listening, waiting and straining to hear the sound that will call you to what might be your final resting place. You make your way to your horse quickly, near the edge of the hill. The knights are still talking behind you, and you scowl, unable to hear what’s going on because of them.

“Be quiet. I can’t hear what’s happening.” You command, loud enough to be heard by the knights at the front. Xander and Tobias hover close by, and they gesture to them all to be silent. You send them your thanks in a nod, turning back toward the edge.

Metal on metal. Shouting. Screaming. Chaos.

You glance up toward the tree, seeing the knight you told to go up there sat in the branches, watching. “You! How’s it looking?”

He watches for a moment more, then calls back, voice strained, “The Protean forces seem to be struggling, with the Steiners and Wysterian ones hammering them so hard. Alder is stronger than we thought, though; Lindera seems to be having trouble with them.”

You frown again, insides lurching and flipping wildly.

_Byron’s in there. He could be hurt. He could be dying._

Your chest aches for a brief second. “Shit.” You look at him again. “And the leaders?”

He leans forward a bit more, squinting into the telescope. “I think I can see King Byron. He looks fine to me; his bodyguards are with him, I think.” Your breath heaves out of you in a rush, before you can even think to stop it. “I can see the Linderan king! He looks fine!” You nod again, relief rushing through you. “And I see Captain Alyn Crawford as well, the Wysterian one. He’s fighting like a demon!”

Good. They’re all okay, so far. “Keep watching. I want to know as soon as anything happens; if the other side change their strategy, or if any of the leaders, commanders, or captains or whatever get hurt. If one side’s numbers seem to be going down quickly, tell me at once.”

“Understood, Ma’am!” He calls back.

This feels so much worse than you expected. Your insides are churning and twisting with worry, panic and fear, and your mind is in turmoil. You want to go down there and drag Byron out, to get him safe and away from danger. You can’t help but think that, even though he’s been trained to fight, he’s never done something like this before. He’s never seen the reality of war. He’s never had to.

_What if he freezes up? What if he hesitates? What if he makes a mistake and turns his back at the wrong time?_

_Be quiet._

The logical part of your mind snaps back at your emotions quickly, almost succeeding in silencing them for the moment. You can’t get hung up thinking about the worst-case scenarios. If you do, you’re not trusting in him and in the other nations, nor any of their knights. You’re doubting them, and that won’t help anyone. You’ll have to face something going wrong when it happens.

_Breathe. Think. Your heart has no place in war._

Your eyes close.

_For once, Stefan’s words are right. I don’t need emotions here. I need actions and sensible thoughts. I must stay calm._

The Laurelian king approaches you, standing at your side. He takes a few seconds to speak. “I understand what you mean, now. This waiting is rather unpleasant.”

Your head drifts up and down, senses still straining to hear something significant from the battlefield. “It is. We just have to be patient and hope that they’re able to cope with Protea and Alder. I know Stein could probably defeat Protea on its own, granted with substantial damage, but I’m not as confident about Alder. Not after they annexed Blunden and are presumably now using the latter’s forces in the war. If they are, it means their knights are equivalent to the forces of two countries.”

He grimaces, tone grave and low. “Meaning that it’s three against three.”

Your muscles tense. “And that there’s a good chance we’ll be called in.”

It’s silent for a long moment. You can’t think of much to say, all things considered. Finally, he sighs, but he’s smiling just a little again. “I believe that we will win. If Stein can for the most part take care of Protea, and then Lindera and Wysteria are struggling with Alder, I think we’ll be able to bring it to an end. Alder can’t take on four countries at once, even if it has larger numbers than our armies because of Blunden.”

He’s right, as much as you hate thinking positive at a time like this. You don’t want to get your hopes up, but still, his logic is marginally comforting. “True.”

He glances at you now, tilting his head. Something warm swirls in his gaze, almost satisfied or relieved. “Worried about King Byron?” He asks, so lowly that no one else can hear. You immediately stiffen, panic rushing through you on instinct. You keep your eyes forward, trying to calm your quickened heartbeat again.

“I’m worried about everyone down there.” You mumble, not wanting to say it explicitly. He chuckles, staring up at the sky.

“Of course; we all are. But, I imagine it must be rather awful with respect to your situation as well.” His words aren’t provoking or cruel; they’re simply stating the truth. So, you merely nod once more, trying to ignore the lurching of your emotions, constantly in overdrive thinking about Byron. “Especially since, as far as I’m aware, the Proteans have another commander on their side, one that’s apparently fierce in battle.”

This makes you look up, head whipping around. “Who?”

He squints, making a slight face while he thinks. “I can barely remember. Alex… Alexander… his last name began with an L, if I recall correctly.”

Your blood may as well have turned to ice.

“Would it by any chance have been Larson?” You suggest, voice deathly serious and quiet. He nods immediately, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, that was it. You know of him?”

You remember that monster all too well. You remember him standing at Stefan’s side at all times, guarding him, protecting him. He was always the one to punish you for talking back or being sarcastic, was always the one pushing his limits, trying to touch you in ways that made you end up attacking him.

He even tried to kill you once, but you escaped before he could and went straight to Stefan, despite everything he’s done. He believed you, seeing as you had never actually fought the guards without reason, and with some threats, Alexander admitted doing it. He was punished severely afterward and never went near you again.

But you weren’t able to find him during the revolution. He wasn’t with Stefan, of all times to abandon him. He vanished on that day.

“He was Stefan’s bodyguard in the castle. He always punished me when I did things wrong, for things I told you about yesterday, but Stefan punished him badly when he tried to kill me. He disappeared during the revolution. We never found him.” Your eyes narrow. “I guess he fled to Protea and sought out asylum there. He’s probably trying to get revenge if anything.”

The king exhales slowly, shaking his head. His gaze turns marginally concerned when he looks at you again. “If that is the case, you will need to watch yourself very carefully. If we end up going in, and he finds you, I imagine he’ll go after you again. Do your best to avoid him, and let someone else take care of him.”

You feel conflicting emotions at the thought. Fighting him could very well end up with you dying, because he’s absolutely giant in power and skill, and you were barely able to run from him that first time, in a castle where you had advantages.

Out in the open… you’re likely to be killed in minutes.

“I’ll try.” You murmur, crossing your arms.

You count the seconds in your head after this, the conversation falling silent. One minute. Ten minutes. Thirty minutes. An hour. Two hours. Three. Four. It’s the most torturous, unbearable thing, to sit there and wait for something that could happen at any time. You’re calm on the outside, but on the inside, you’re a complete wreck by the fifth hour.

The knights have all sat down on the grass in their places, still ready to go but rather spending it resting their legs instead. You sit down intermittently, getting up to stretch and wake your body up if you start to relax, before doing it again. The Laurelian king does the same, although with a chair his bodyguard brings out for him.

The knight up in the tree, apparently called Haren, remains there, still keeping tabs on the battle through the telescope. He watches everything happens and calls down updates as he sees them, which you’re grateful for, because it means you can know what’s going on despite being unable to see yourself.

Byron is still alive. Albert is still alive. Nico is still alive. Alyn is still alive. The Linderan king is still alive.

Protea’s forces are dwindling by this point, but Alder’s sheer numbers are still causing issues for Wysteria and Lindera. Apparently, the former Prime Minister and now King of Protea is there, although he’s not fighting yet, and is alive. Haren tells you that he suspects Protea’s forces are at about ten percent now, with Stein’s at ninety, Wysteria’s at eighty, and Lindera’s at roughly seventy. He estimates Alder’s to be at around forty percent.

You pace at the edge of the hill, jittery and nervous. You keep that off your face, of course, making sure that you don’t _look_ like you’re emotionally and mentally ruined, but you’re still feeling it.

It’s been roundabouts five hours when you hear a distant, familiar hoot.

_Spinner? During the daytime?_

Your head jerks up, and you see the knights do the same at the sound. You stare at the sky, waiting for the owl to appear from somewhere. He doesn’t show and you stand there, baffled, expecting him to be in the area.

“General ___, was that an owl?” The Linderan king asks, looking just as perplexed. You nod, never moving your eyes from the sky.

“It’s a Steiner owl.” You reply, not being specific about him being Byron’s. You don’t quite know why.

A few seconds of silent confusion pass.

Then, there’s the sound of branches rustling to your left, the way you all arrived at the camp from. Your sword is out instantly, body whirling around, expecting an ambush. The knights all do the same around you, staring down at the side of the hill, and at the forest partially concealing it.

But then you almost cry with relief when a bundle of white feathers bursts through the vegetation, hooting loudly, almost excitedly. Spinner flies over the knights, seemingly looking for something. You sheathe your sword, watching as he eventually seems to spot you. He lets out another hoot, almost like a desperate cry of greeting, before swooping down to you.

You hold your arm out to him, watching him land on your armour, gripping tightly. He flaps his wings, shaking his head slightly, before he taps your forehead with his beak.

“Spinner…” You breathe out, reaching up to rub his neck gently. He purrs at the touch, apparently enjoying it. It’s now that you notice a message attached to his leg, and you deftly unclasp it from the holder, taking out the scroll of parchment.

The words written are in unfamiliar handwriting. Scribbled, rushed, not from Byron.

_“The King of Lindera has fallen. Alder is much stronger than expected. Protea has nearly been defeated, but we can’t get to the king. Please be on standby, Your Highness._

_King Byron, Albert and Alyn are all alive._

_N.M”_

_Your Highness… N.M._

Nico.

You pass the parchment to the King of Laurelia, letting him read it, before turning to the knights. When you speak, there’s a heaviness in your heart from having to say the first few words. “The King of Lindera is dead. Protea has nearly been beaten, but our allies are struggling with Alder. We need to be waiting for the signal; we’re likely to be called in.”

The knights descend into murmurs. Some look worried or upset, most likely because of the Linderan king. You speak again, silencing them all. “We have lost a great king, but we cannot let this get to us. Our allies are still waiting on us and will call us if they need us. If we are to grieve now, it will only make us less able to help if we are called down. We will fight for the king regardless. Let’s make sure that his sacrifice wasn’t in vain.”

This seems to settle them, and they remain quiet once more. The Laurelian king gives the parchment back to you, expression remorseful. “I pray for his family. He was a good man.”

You nod, although you’re not entirely convinced by instinct. You quickly find a pencil to write with, and with the king’s approval, reply on the back of the parchment.

 

_“Stay strong. We will win, and his sacrifice will never be in vain. Be careful. We’re ready and waiting for the call._

__._”_

 

You attach the message to Spinner’s leg. He launches himself up again with a hoot, then flies straight for the trees, vanishing from sight. You turn to the king, having realised why he’s doing it. “He’s using the trees to avoid revealing our location.”

He raises his eyebrows at that, looking surprised. “He knows to do that?”

You shrug slightly, not certain but knowing that it’s likely. “He’s extremely intelligent and well trained. He sent a message to me once, from Stein, when King Byron and I were discussing trade. He knew where the castle was even though he’d never been sent or taken there before.”

He shakes his head, looking amazed.

You, on the other hand, can only close your eyes, thanking all the powers in the world for keeping them all alive for this long at least.

After a while, you end up counting again. Six hours have passed. Seven. Another message from Spinner, saying that the knights are getting tired and running out of energy, but that the Alderans still have a good third of their troops left. Significant casualties have been suffered by the Linderans, less serious but still somewhat heavy losses by the Wysterians, much less severe losses for Stein. All of the Protean forces have been wiped out, but their king has retreated behind Alderan lines, unreachable.

_Come on. Finish. Win. Please, win. Come out of this safe._

The eight hour passes. Nine. Ten. The sun starts to approach the western horizon.

And you’re on the floor, staring out at the sky, when you hear the whistle.

Everyone stops. For a long, tense second, the whole hillside goes absolutely silent and still otherwise, the battlefield quietening. The soft, almost soothing sound drifts through the air, loud and clear, like an angel calling on the humans below it to come to them.

You bolt upright, emotions going into chaos.

“This is it! Get ready! We move, now!” You all but scream, sprinting to your horse and throwing yourself onto her back. You ride to the leftmost side of the troops, unsheathing your sword and shouting while they all scramble to their positions, “Ready yourselves! It’s finally time for us to go down, and it’s now or never! They need our help! Every one of us could save a life by fighting today, and we will! Have strength and trust in each other! We will win, and we will survive!”

Your troops thrust their swords out toward you, echoing your words from before. “We will live for the first time!”

Despite your pounding heart, despite your shaking body and fear, you beam at them all, nodding with your eyes blazing. “That’s right! We stand together and fight together for our future! Let’s end this here, now, and help our allies!”

You’re about to go to the Laurelian king, but one of the knights close to you, at the very leftmost edge, stretches his sword out to you. He smiles up at you brightly, determined, and asks, “Will you do it again, ___? Just before we go?”

Your heart swells, with the joy of knowing you have people by your side, with the camaraderie that has never weakened once since it was born during the revolution. You nod strongly, touching your sword to his. The whole front row raises their swords in front of them, holding them up to you.

You ride forward, meeting the eyes of every one of your knights as you go past. Your swords are as dark as obsidian, glinting with the rare substance used to make them, ringing out when they touch.

But just before you get to the end of your knights, several of the Laurelian knights raise their own swords up as well. Some stare at you with determination, some fear, some pure energy. Soon, the whole front row of the Laurelian troops have done the same.

You don’t stop. You keep riding, sword touching all of theirs as you go past, right through Vinessia and into Laurelia.

Finally, you arrive at the front, positioning yourself next to the king of Laurelia, on his left. He lifts his own sword, tilting it towards you just enough for you to see what he’s doing. You mimic him, crossing it over his own.

Your whole body is trembling with nerves.

You reach into your jacket, pulling out the whistle. You feel a sense of security as your fingers find the ring, reminding you of the promise and the man you’re fighting for, along with all of the other things that are driving you to battle.

You bring it up to your lips, blowing as hard as you can.

It’s painfully loud, the whistle, but you keep going with it, letting the sound hum through the air, all the way to the battlefield.

_Ten seconds of the whistle, and then I count to thirty._

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

_Retreat. Please, everyone, retreat. Run back. Get yourselves out of there._

You stop blowing the whistle, tucking it inside your jacket again. You hear it immediately, the sound of many footsteps all at once, sprinting in one direction. All of the allied forces are moving back toward Stein, away from the Alderans, and by the sound of many screams, they are being protected by the arrow attack while they’re retreating.

_Ten._

You ready yourself, lowering your sword. The Laurelian king glances at you, eyes crinkling at the edges with his smile. “Good luck, General ___. Do the world a favour and make it out of this; it needs people like you around to change things.”

You nod, giving him a smile back. The words, although simple and light, calm you and help you to focus through the fear. “I’ll do my best if you will, Your Majesty. Good luck.”

_Twenty._

He laughs lightly, returning the nod. “Of course. Just call me Alfred.”

You look forward again, counting down the last few seconds. “Okay, Alfred. Just call me ___, then.”

_Thirty._


	13. Part XIII | War.

**†** **♛** **†**

“Charge!”

Everything lurches forward at once. You and Alfred bolt toward the edge of the hill together, horses’ gallops strong and quick, pounding away at the grass under their hooves. The nerves, the fear, the doubt, all settles now, disappearing just like it did when you fought in the revolution. Your adrenaline is kicking in, pumping and shooting through your veins, lighting them on fire and inhibiting everything that’s not needed for survival.

You can hear the troops behind you, the first few rows being on horses as well, just so that you can cause as much damage when you first run in. Everyone will dismount once they’re on the battlefield, and then it’s on-foot combat until the end. Having horses there is both cruel and inefficient in battles like this.

The battlefield comes into sight. You swallow thickly.

Even with the two hundred feet gap between you and the battlefield, you can see the blood on the ground. You can see it painted in crimson, and can already see so many bodies, _too_ many bodies, strewn across the grass. You don’t even want to estimate how many have died, and how many were soldiers who didn’t want to fight.

The Linderans, you realise, aren’t wearing metal armour. By the bulky looks of their clothes, and the Alderans as well, they’re wearing protection under their clothing rather than external armour. For a moment, you’re baffled. Why?

Trying to dismiss your confusion, you glance to the west. The allied forces are, thankfully, where they should be. They’re almost at the western edge of the battlefield, the archers stationed at the tree line providing cover for them from the enemy. Said troops are for the most part waiting, looking completely unsure of what to do, completely taken aback and unprepared for such a manoeuvre.

You feel sorry for them. You really, really do.

The horses accelerate now, sprinting down the hill in an unbelievably quick advance. This is why you chose this place. Gravity helps you here, bringing you all down faster, giving them less time to react. It increases your chances of winning just by having the hill there.

You raise your sword, holding it up over your head, then pointing to the east. The Laurelian king nods, riding more to the right, guiding his troops to hit the Alderans from their eastern flank. By doing that, you’re cutting off one of their two escape routes, the only other being the forest right in front of you. You’re forcing them to either wait to be slaughtered or run.

You really could be Stefan’s daughter, you realise.

You’re close now, the sound of the horses creating a drum vibrating through the earth, powerful and strong and unbreakable. The knights are screaming and roaring, almost deafening you, instilling pure fear into the remaining Alderans. You can see that it’s working, that it’s striking real, deep terror into many of the knights. Some of them immediately turn on their heels, retreating toward the forest, abandoning the battle. You think that maybe thirty percent of their troops must be remaining now, according to how they’ve been decreasing throughout the day, and from the number that are running.

You’ll reach them in ten seconds.

“Ready, everyone! Together! Fight your hardest!” You scream, receiving roars and cheers of agreement behind you.

You don’t let yourself look for Byron. You can’t afford to.

You pull your sword back, readying yourself.

And then you clash with the Alderans, and you’re straight back in the hell you’ve been trying to forget for half a year.

You can barely see what’s going on when your horse jumps into the knights, crushing one under her hooves immediately. You arc your sword out, catching a knight in the neck. Not waiting to see him drop, you push forward, keeping your horse jumping, ensuring that she’s stampeding them as she goes. There are screams and yells of agony all around you, but you block them out, focusing on swinging and lashing out, trying to hit any and every Alderan in the vicinity. You can hear them calling, shouting to each other.

Some say to fight. Others say to run. A few say to give up.

You break through the main mass of Alderan forces and ride forward, then jump off your horse and land lightly. Whistling, you point toward the Steiner encampment, watching her gallop off toward it obediently. The other ideas are doing the same, dropping to their feet near you. You see the Laurelian king a little way away, breathing heavily but unharmed, dismounting his horse. He sends you a nod that you return.

You sprint forward again, watching the Steiners, Wysterians and Laurelians running back, returning to battle once more.

In the thick of it, it’s complete chaos. Everywhere you turn, someone strikes out at you, some trying and failing to kill you. You throw your sword at them, one of the throwing knives Byron gave you clutched in your other hand, ready for use if you need it. One knight comes up behind you, but you duck out of his attack and launch the knife at his neck, watching it bury itself in his throat.

_Sorry. I don’t want to do this._

You rip it out of his neck, feeling his blood spray all over you, before he collapses to the floor.

_Move on. Don’t think about it._

You obey Stefan’s lessons. They’ll lead you to survival.

You sprint through the mass of knights, identifying enemies and allies, finding people you trust and people you need to kill. You don’t hang around in one area like so many of the foreign knights do, but rather make a straight flush through a line of knights. Your own troops are doing the same, essentially sweeping through the enemy quickly, efficiently, not giving anyone time to pin you all down and corner you. By making beelines for the edges, you prevent them from getting a good enough opportunity to kill you.

It only feels like ten minutes have passed when you finish your fifteenth run-through, now unable to count how many people you’ve killed, but in reality it’s been forty minutes. You glance up at the sky when you’re in a clear area, seeing the sun dipping down, just teasing toward the horizon.

_We can’t be fighting at night-time. The Alderans could potentially win if things go south during the night; I doubt the Linderans will be able to last much longer, and the Wysterians are struggling._

You grit your teeth.

Let’s finish this before the sun goes down.

A growl erupts from you, and then you’re running back in.

You’re locked in a fierce, fast sword fight with a bulky Alderan when another blade bursts through his heart from behind, sending blood pouring and spurting around the sword instantly. He chokes, shock on his face, before the sword retracts. He drops to the floor.

Stood behind him is Xander. He sends you a wink.

You look behind you out of instinct, seeing Tobias emerge from the bloodbath. He grins wolfishly, moving in close to you, standing back to back. Xander does the same, allowing the three of you to make a defensive triangle, covering each other's rears.

“Where have you been, General?” Xander asks, breathless and bloody, but nonetheless alive and kicking and seemingly unhurt.

“We’ve been looking for you, missy. You’re damn hard to find!” Tobias jokes back, looking unharmed as well, lurching toward an approaching Alderan. You meet your own attacker halfway, grabbing his free arm and twisting yourself behind him, dislocating it. While he howls in pain and tries to stand up straight, you slit his throat, bouncing back to Xander.

“Oh, I’ve been here and there. You know, the usual. Killing and having people trying to kill me. I’ve been around.” It’s completely odd and to some extent inappropriate considering the circumstances, but this is how the three of you work. You do joke and tease, even in bad situations, because it helps to give you hope when everything’s going to hell. It’s the one thing that you can’t do on your own.

“It’s nearly over, ___! We absolutely slaughtered them when we came in! I think they’ve only got about ten percent left now, from running around about ten minutes ago. If things go well, we’ll be done in maybe an hour and we’ll have won.” Xander tells you, monitoring you snap an Alderan’s neck and fend off another, then cut his throat and stab him in the heart before returning.

Relief rushes through you. Your tactic worked. It was more than efficient. “Thank God. Anyone seen the other leaders?”

Tobias shouts over now, kicking a downed Alderan in the head, breaking his neck. “Yep! Byron, the little shit Nico, and stick-up-the-ass Albert are all fine and over to the west side! Last time I saw, Alyn and his guys were focusing on the south-western edge, and the Protean dipshit is still hiding with the Alderans! No clue if he’s anywhere around here, though.”

You nod, sending your hidden blade into the heart of a knight Xander kicks to you. “Good.” You shove him off, cutting his throat swiftly. “Let’s make some runs, then, and try to see what’s going on!”

Tobias laughs darkly, bounding over to you. “Yes, Ma’am!”

Xander hops over as well, rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling. “As you wish, General.”

You go through with the two now, cutting and slicing, defending each other and using each other for the most efficiency. However, you’re soon split up when a group of larger, stronger Alderans attack you, forcing you all to separate. The one after you is fast, nearly as fast as you, and you have to keep dodging just to be able to stay alive.

Eventually, though, you see a slightly dangerous opening. If you continue like this, you’re going to get chopped somewhere and it’s going to hurt a lot more than this.

_Let’s do it._

You sprint forward as he arcs the sword at your middle, just missing it. You dart around his side and to his back, seeing him start to turn and swing at you again as you pass around. Right before you get behind him, you feel the sword slice across your side, deep enough to make you shout out in pain. You whip around and send your sword across his wrist, nearly cutting his hand off in one go. He howls in agony and drops his sword, allowing you to send your hidden blade into his back, then cut his throat.

He drops to the floor. You roll out of the way of another attacker, dispatching them with a throwing knife to the heart, before retrieving it and bolting through again.

Once you reach the fringes of the battle, you quickly look down, assessing the damage. He just nicked you where your armour doesn’t cover because of the design, the millimetre-wide area that’s unprotected. Blood is oozing through the material of your clothes and over the metal of your armour, but you reckon it won’t be a problem for a good half an hour because it’s not an organ wound or a majorly deep chop into your insides.

“Bastard.” You mutter, annoyed. “And I thought this was a good design for armour.”

Letting out a huff, you dive in once more.

It’s now that you spot Albert through the madness, engaged in an intense fight with another Alderan. He seems to be struggling, since the Alderan is using a more adaptive fighting style like yours, and you mentally curse yourself for not offering to train the Steiners to deal with such a thing.

You don’t hesitate. You sprint straight at him, reaching them both just as the Alderan turns his back to you.

_Perfect. Come here._

You jump up, pounding onto the knight’s back. Before he has the chance to throw you off, you bury your hidden blade in his throat, jerking it forward to slice open the front-left portion of his neck. Dropping back down, you stab him in the heart just for good measure, then duck around his collapsing body.

Albert stares at you, seeming to be almost dumbstruck while simultaneously awed at your actions. You raise an eyebrow. “Albert, focus. You’re in a war.”

Behind him, you can see Nico also stuck in a long fight, he being too fast for the Alderan to catch but the latter being too strong for Nico to attack properly. You go to him quickly, forming a plan in microseconds. As the Alderan swings at Nico, his sword arcing to the side, you roll under his arm and spin around to be behind him, sending your sword through his chest. Then, you kick him off, shouting, “Finish him, Nico! Now!”

There’s a flash of light, the sun glinting from Nico’s sword, before it cuts across the knight’s neck.

_Albert and Nico are here…_

You whip around, scanning, brain trying to find his face.

_Where’s Byron?_

You finally find him.

He’s stood among a group of his knights, all fighting a knight each, making a defensive circle. You’re about to turn around and go after someone else, relieved and satisfied that he’s safe, when the Steiner knight in the circle directly behind him stumbles back, his throat cut open. He drops to the floor, lifeless. Byron knocks his own opponent to the floor, but the Alderan who killed the Steiner lurches at his back, raising his sword up.

Your heart, stomach, insides, mind, everything goes into panic. Your hand reaches down without you even thinking, and, praying to every and any god you can think of out of desperation, you throw it straight at the Alderan’s face.

It slices through the air, right next to Byron’s head. You see him freeze, for a moment thinking that the knife was meant for him. And he does think that; for a second, he is completely confused, completely heartbroken and destroyed, because he thinks that for some reason you’ve decided to kill him.

But then, he hears the sound of metal meeting flesh, and he whips around. The Alderan he hadn’t known was behind him drops to the ground, one of the throwing knives he gave you buried in his forehead.

You swiftly get rid of the Alderan he was initially fighting, then hop toward him, briefly crouching in front of the one you killed first. You yank the knife from his face and skull, then whip around to Byron, scanning him for injuries. Some cuts here and there, the odd bruise on his jaw, and a patch of red seeping around the upper part of his armour.

He does the same with you, inspecting you rapidly. A few cuts on your face, and a blossoming circle of red in the break between your armour.

_You’re alright._

You’re about to say something when a very familiar, completely terrifying sensation runs through you, sending a shudder up your back.

_Move! Behind you!_

You grab Byron’s arm, throwing him to the side, before ducking and rolling forward.

When you spin on your heels, you’re met with Alexander Larson.

He’s just as you remember him, but more rugged. A young adult, male, broadly set and all muscle, 6’2” in height. Blond hair cut short and stray pieces covering his eyes, which are a deep, dark blue and filled with rage. He has thick, strong armour on, and a large sword in his hand.

He grins, the sight sending disgust rolling through you. “Been looking for you, little lady. I’ve missed you, you know. Never got to have a piece of you, did I?”

There’s a desire for revenge in his gaze. Your heart stops beating for a moment. You remember one of the most important lessons Stefan taught you.

_“Never let loose ends get away from you. People who escape you are people who will haunt you. A vendetta will be the death of you, and it will strike when you least expect it. A vendetta is a death sentence for anyone involved with power, and you are amongst the highest positions of power in the region. A vendetta for us is nothing less than assassination.”_

_The one loose end I didn’t tie up after the revolution, and the one loose end I could never defeat._

You try to force back the memories you have of him, the flashes of pain and fear associated with the monster before you, and the deep panic stirring in your chest. “Trust me, I haven’t missed you. How pathetic, that you’re still chasing someone who’s never been remotely interested in you. You’re sick.”  
  
He laughs, deeply, dangerously. “Am I, now?”

A Steiner appears from behind him, arcing his sword down at Alexander’s nape. The latter whirls around, catching the sword in his hand, before grabbing the Steiner by the throat. “I’m trying to have a conversation here. Do me a favour and die, will you?”

He clenches his fist. You don’t look, hearing the crack of bones and muscle even with the battle around you. Beside you, Byron stiffens, his expression betraying his horror just slightly. He can’t help it; he’s just watched one of his men have his life ended in a mere second, with a mere single hand, without his killer even seeming to put any effort into it.

Alexander lets go of the Steiner, whose body crumples to the floor, completely still. He turns back to you, making his way toward you purposefully, absolutely no hesitation in his step. “Come here, darling. I’ve got a lot of bones to pick with you, and I plan on having my way with you before I kill you, like I should have done when you were still an obedient bitch.”

Your insides churn. You feel physically nauseous. “You’re disgraceful. You have respect for yourself and that’s it. I’ll put you out of your misery, don’t worry.”

Byron is furious. Hearing him talking about you like that, saying such awful things, wanting to do such terrible things to you… he’s never felt rage like this before.

You both draw your swords. Alexander grins. “Fine. It’s better when you’re too cut up to fight, anyway.”

He lunges for you.

You dance back, dragging Byron with you. You can’t fight him here; it’s a death wish. “You’re such a failure. How come you abandoned Stefan? How come you didn’t let me kill you when we destroyed him? Did he tell you off for trying to kill me, and were you sulking because of it?”

He snarls with fury, stabbing his sword straight for you. You knock it away, jumping back again. If you can taunt him, he may slip. Otherwise, he’ll be completely capable of taking you out with ease. “Ah, so you were just being a baby that had been told off. You know, for all that Stefan put me through hell, he didn’t actually want me to die. He was going to put that crown on my head when he thought I’d submitted to him. Imagine that, if I had been the queen. You would have had to do anything I wanted and wouldn’t have been able to touch me.”

“Enough!” He roars, coming at you with a barrage of quick, heavy attacks. You duck and roll out of the way, then fling one of your throwing knives at the uncovered part of his chest where it meets his shoulder. It buries itself in there, slicing in deep, and he lets out an enraged shout of pain. “You little bitch!”

Another Wysterian attempts to stop him, to protect you and Byron, but Alexander cuts him down without the slightest bit of effort.

_Shit! I need to get to different terrain! Open combat is suicide!_

You roll back and away again, seeing Byron moving with you, apparently having clicked on that this guy is not going down easily. You don’t want him to get involved in this; he won’t make it out alive with his training. “Byron!”

He doesn’t even seem bothered about you not using his title in front of others. He glances at you, showing his attention, while Nico and Albert hurry to flank him on either side.

You back up a little, seeing Alexander stalk toward you. “If my knights ask where I am when we win, tell them to assume I’m dead.”

His insides lurch, pain searing through his heart. “Wh-”

You speak over him, staring straight at Alexander, addressing him directly. “If you’ve got a vendetta against me, fine. Let’s settle it. But this war’s over, and it’s ours. Stop hurting the people I care about and I’ll fight you alone.”

He stops for a long, tense moment, hateful eyes burning through you. His chest heaves with anger, jaw clenched tightly. Finally, though, he spits out one word. “Run.”

It’s the only thing you can do with him. You have to play cat and mouse, and pray that you can get somewhere a cat can’t reach.

You turn around, sprinting for it through the battle. You can see that it’s almost over now, and that the sun’s nearly touching the horizon.

_If I can keep him away from them until it’s over, he won’t be able to hurt them. He can’t take on the whole of our side on his own. They’ll overwhelm him eventually._

You sprint into the trees, sword in hand, throwing knife in the other. Your side is aching, and you can feel fresh cuts you didn’t realise you had on the likes of your lower back and stomach, but you don’t let it slow you down. You simply run for your life through the forest, trying to ward off the guilt you feel for leaving Byron like that.

You wish you could have said goodbye, and could have kissed him one last time. You doubt you’ll get out of this alive.

Byron immediately darts forward, going to run after you, but both Nico and Albert catch his arms to stop him. Seeing the bewildered, infuriated fire blazing in his eye, Nico tightens his grip, telling him forcefully, “Byron, you can’t. Not yet. One leader potentially dying is bad, but if you run in as well and end up dying, it’ll ruin everything. We have to ensure that we’ve won. You know that. We can’t afford to let the knights see one leader run while being pursued, then another leave for no apparent reason.”

Albert levels Byron with an even stare, nodding, voice low but calm. “We cannot leave. We must finish this, and then we can help her. She will be able to take care of herself, I am sure of it.”

Byron’s chest aches. He still wants to go to you, afraid because of how unnaturally powerful that man was, afraid because you’re already hurt and might not be able to defend yourself against him.

But he knows the potential consequences of running before it ends. They’re right. He can’t afford it.

“Fine.” He relents, tone deep and dangerous and full to the brim with irrefutable rage. “Then let us finish this, right now, quickly. We must find her as fast as possible.”

Albert nods, a slight smile curling at his lips. He nudges his glasses up, wearing them even in battle, before arcs his sword down to rid it of blood. Nico mimics him, grinning widely. “Yes, King Byron.”

At the same time, you’re running faster than you’ve ever run in your life.

Your breath hisses through your throat, sharp and pained and short. You practically fly through the forest, body moving in a blur amidst the fire of the sun’s evening rays. You’re straining every sense, sprinting deeper and deeper into the woods, trying to put as much distance between Alexander and the battle as possible. You don’t care if he hurts you. You don’t give a damn in he kills you.

As long as you buy everyone else enough time to win, you’re happy. You will have succeeded.

“You can’t run away forever, bitch! I’m going to find you and make you suffer either way!” You hear him scream, quite a bit behind you in the forest. Deep-rooted fear surges through your limbs, sending alarm through your muscles and pushing them to move you faster. Your eyes snap around you, wild and openly afraid.

With anyone else, you’d fight them. But this man is someone you can’t kill, and one who terrifies you right to your core.

You see a tree coming up that you know you can climb, and without hesitation, you swing yourself around it, bolting up its side. Launching your body up, you climb as high as you can, although it’s not the tallest of trees, before curling in on yourself and hiding in the leaves.

Your heart pounds. Your chest is in agony. Your side is burning. You want Byron.

You muffle your breaths, hearing him nearing. Trying to not pass out from oxygen deprivation, you shrink back against the bark, praying that he won’t find you. You beg for him to be unable to get to you, to spend more time looking, to give the others a better chance.

Your fingers grip the bark, body trembling violently, muscles consumed with adrenaline.

_Please, be safe, everyone._

Your lips press together. You breathe through your nose instead.

_Xander, Tobias, Byron, Albert, Nico, Alfred, all of the knights… please finish this and live._

Everything seems to go unnaturally silent for a long few seconds. You freeze, knowing that silence means danger.

A second later, something slams into your uninjured side, hitting so hard that your body is thrown off the branch. You can barely process this when flames seem to engulf the flesh, searing through it and causing the whole area to be scorched with agony. Gravity pulls you down, stomach lurching as you fall. You reach out, managing to catch yourself on a branch heavily. You can’t hold on, though, and are sent falling to the ground.

You hit hard, the wind knocked out of you. You shriek, feeling of whatever’s in your side burying itself deeper. Eyes filled with tears, you weakly roll onto your back, forcing yourself to look down.

Your vision sways, twisting and morphing around you.

There’s your throwing knife, the one you threw at Alexander before, nestled deep in your side above your hip.

You grip the knife, trying to keep it still, howling in pain and attempting to crawl back. Something hard flies into your other side, higher up, against your armour. The force of it tosses your body back, starbursts of pain exploding through you when you hit the floor again.

A hand fists itself in your hair, eliciting more pain in your scalp. You cry out, stumbling to your feet when you’re dragged up. Alexander grins down at you, throwing you back and shoving you against the tree. More pain consumes your side, and you can’t hold back the shout that escapes your throat. You try desperately to push him away or stab him with your hidden blades, but he catches one hand and pins it above your head, then releases your hair to restrain the other.

You can’t move. You can’t possibly escape now, not with his sheer strength.

You don’t look at him, squeezing your eyes shut waiting for the suffering, or for death. You hear him laugh darkly, sadistically, his face close to yours, before he growls out against your cheek. “Caught you. Now I’m going to get you back for screwing me over that day, and not just submitting like you should have.”

He shoves his knee between your legs, pushing up. You twist up as much as you can, preventing him from doing what he wants. You can feel blood rising up in your throat, most likely from the knife in your side; you guess it’s hit your lung somewhere. You cough it up, feeling it drip over your lip and down your chin. He only snickers, hand reaching down toward the dagger.

“Aw, did I get your lung? Maybe one of the arteries in it? Come on, scream for me. Let me hear you cry.” He takes one of the remaining knives from your belt, using it to cut your cape away. Pocketing the knife, he unclasps your armour, yanking it off your chest and throwing the plate to the ground. “Let’s see what damage I’ve done. This is only the start, sweetheart, trust me.”

You force your lips together again, biting down on your bottom one to silence the sounds trying to escape you. He grunts, seeing this, before he clamps a hand around the dagger. A burst of agony spreads through the area again, and tears leak over your eyelids, streaming down your cheeks.

He eyes the knife, still buried in your side, blood soaking through your uniform around it. “I never got to hear you cry and scream because Stefan always locked you up. Now, I get to make you do it all I want.”

He leans in close again, leaving his mouth next to your ear. Your body shudders with disgust. “Fucking scream, bitch.”

He pushes the dagger up. Your insides tear.

An inhuman, sickening shriek escapes you despite your efforts to stop it, the pain and nausea from what he’s doing to you forcing the sound out. He chuckles, pressing harder, and another scream shatters the peace of the forest. Words start forming incoherently, your body trying to speak, to do something to stop him, but nothing comes out properly.

“Ah,” He sighs out, lessening the pressure slightly. Your chest heaves, head spinning. He presses himself up against you, and you can barely stop yourself from throwing up as he whispers, “There it is. Such a beautiful scream.”

_You… bastard…_

He’s close enough for you to try, one last time, to run. You can attempt it.

_He’ll probably make it ten times worse for me…_

He shifts the knife again. You release another agonised screech, a sob escaping you.

_But I can try._

You bolster all your strength, all your desire to live and protect people, the need for Byron and the want for happiness.

Your leg comes up, booted foot slamming into his lower spine. You throw your head into his.

Pain blisters through your skull, but he is forced to drop you as he stumbles back, then falls to one knee. You collapse against the tree, exhausted and ready to give up, but you make yourself move through the agony, whipping around as fast as you can, making a full-tilt run further into the forest. With the place you hit in his back, it’ll cause some damage to his ability to move, so you’ll have some time. That, and the pain in his head, will slow him down.

Now, you can only run. No more fighting. Your body is giving out.

“Bad move, bitch! I’m going to find you and make you regret not dying with your fucking dad fourteen years ago!” He roars, his voice echoing and bouncing off the trees around you, filling the air everywhere you turn. You keep your hand on the knife, gasping for breath through the pain, doing your best to keep it still inside you.

You think about Byron as you run. You think about how you love him. You think about how you wish you could have experienced a normal life with him.

You think about your mother, the one who still hasn’t seen you since Stefan stole you from her. You think about how you failed to see her because you were too scared of hurting her again.

You think about Xander and Tobias, those beautiful boys who got you through hell and dragged you back. You think about how you owe them everything, how you owe them the world, for giving you the chance of freedom.

_I don’t want to die._

You stumble through the trees, and something large looms in the distance. It’s what looks like a church or manor, obviously dilapidated and unused, left to the mercy of the elements.

_I can hide in there, even just until I bleed out…_

A bolt of energy shoots through you. You head straight for the building.

You know he must be catching up now, but you don’t let that slow you down. You keep running, almost tripping over yourself, vision blurred and morphed by tears. Everything is shifting and swirling around you, your brain unable to cope with all the stress attacking your body.

You reach the doors, throwing yourself at one of them. It swings open, and you slam it shut behind you, seeing that it has a normal, granted rusting lock. A key, obviously years old, is still sat inside. You force the metal to turn despite how stiff it is, then notice that it also has old-fashioned bars, allowing for a wooden beam to be used as a means of barricading the doors as well. Looking around, you see one to the side, not as long as it should be and somewhat rotted, but still useable.

Crying out in exertion, you lift it into place, then stumble back again. Your knees give out under you, sending you crashing to the ground.

You pant away, using your free arm to crawl from the door. Looking up, you take in the building. It _is_ a church, you realise, but all of the pews have been smashed or broken and simply cover the sides of the chapel in heaps of wood. The alter is still standing but is rotted, and the stained glass windows are broken behind it.

_I’m going to die here._

You can hear your blood dripping onto the floor with each pull, and can see a long streak of it along the planks when you glance behind you. You get to the alter, using it to heave yourself up and stay standing, not planning to simply lie down and die for him. You take out one of your knives, tears running down your face, glistening in the light of the sunset coming in through the broken windows.

There’s fear in your eyes. You don’t do it consciously, but your hand comes up, touching the whistle under your jacket through the material. It’s like your body knows to use it, or like it wants to try one last time to save itself. It feels like a safety blanket, a possible way for Byron to find you, even though you don’t want him to.

You don’t want to die. You don’t want to fall at the hands of a monster.

You pull the whistle out, heaving a breath, before you blow into it as hard as you can.

The sound shatters the quiet in the church, echoing around the chapel and out of the broken window, into the forest. It’s that call again, a cry from the angel for help, a plea for mercy from the heavens and the humans around it, to save its life.

The whistle falls from your lips, body shaking, lungs and chest in agony. You stifle a gasp, leaning heavily against the altar.

There’s a thunderous bang against the door. Another. Then another.

“Nice try, bitch. A church isn’t going to stop me from killing you. Heaven wouldn’t want someone like you. No one’s coming to help you now.”

Another bang. The beam snaps, leaving only the lock left to protect you. A fifth bang. The door splinters. You grip the knife tighter.

On the sixth, it bursts open. Alexander stalks through it, pulling out his sword, fury exuding and rolling off him like smoke.

A tremor rattles your dying frame.

_I don’t want to die…_

Blood is running down his face from his forehead. He bares his teeth. “Now, there’s the fucking fear I’ve been waiting for. Finally, I get to see you terrified. About goddamn time. I’m going to make sure I see a lot of those eyes before I send you down to hell, where you belong.”

Your thoughts whir through your head in a split second.

_Mum, dad… Tobias and Xander… Byron, Albert and Nico… Dean, Rose, Delia, Sean… everyone at home… everyone who’s ever helped me…_

You get ready to throw the knife.

_I’m sorry. Thank you. I love you._

You’re about to launch it when you see a shadow move into the church, bounding over to Alexander in one long, swift step.

“You first, you twisted prick.”

A sword slices the back of Alexander’s neck, then drives itself straight through his skull. His own sword falls from his hand, clattering to the ground.

_What… I know that voice…_

The sword yanks back, blurring and shifting in your vision. You barely see him fall to the ground, barely see the tall shadow behind him move into the light. A foot slams down on his neck, snapping it instantly.

6’2”, black hair with blue streaks. A dark, long coat swishing around them. Male. Strong.

And with a voice you’d recognise anywhere.

You manage to blink away the tears, allowing you to see the man before you.

_Sid._

He grins, calling to you in an almost relieved tone, “Guess my debt’s paid, then. Right, General?” You can see the relief in his eyes even through his grin and relaxed expression. “You okay?”

You could never describe the relief and joy you feel at seeing him there. You can’t speak. You can only nod just slightly, more tears spilling from your eyes.

Finally, your body can’t hold out anymore. The last thing you see is the knife in your hand falling to the floor, Sid screaming your name and running for you.

The darkness takes over, at long, long last.

**†** **♛** **†**

Sid’s body lurches toward you as you collapse.

“Shit!” He curses, watching you fall to the floor, limp. He immediately turns you onto your back, seeing your eyes closed and expression blank, limbs completely unresponsive and still. He places his fingers against your pulse point in your throat, feeling for it. He hears the others sprinting in, running straight for him, but he isn’t sure if your pulse is even there. “Come on. Don’t die, not now, not after you’ve just survived all this shit and protected everyone from him.”

He drops his ear against your chest, ripping your jacket out of the way. He listens closely, blocking out everything else.

Your heart thumps weakly, slowly, in your chest.

The man stood behind him speaks in an emotionless voice, but his eye shows nothing except pain. “Sid.”

Sid lifts his head, throwing his jacket off. “She’s alive.”

The King of Stein falls to his knees beside you.

He takes in the sight of your battered, broken body, tears glistening in the light. You’re absolutely saturated in your blood, breathing shallow, the knife in your side buried deep.

He can barely think straight. Despite his own wounds, the pain he feels sitting beside you, staring down at your lifeless form, is worse. It hurts so much more. It’s unbearable. They were already running through the forest when they heard the whistle, piercing through the forest, soft but sharp at the same time. His heart immediately sunk, and they bolted it straight for the noise.

Hearing it, he knew it was bad. He knew you were in trouble straight away.

And his mind went into meltdown at the prospect of arriving just too late.

Albert and Nico move to your other side, assessing the damage. Sid scowls, picking your knife up from the floor and studying it. “The wound needs to be cauterised, or she’s dying right here. Try moving her now and she’ll bleed out in minutes.” He glances up at Albert and Nico. Byron’s vision tilts for a moment, horror gripping his mind. “One of you make a fire somehow.”

_She’ll bleed out. We have to stop the bleeding. I can’t lose her._

Nico nods, dashing out of the church swiftly. Albert takes his gloves and jacket off, pressing his hands down around the knife, on the wound. Byron moves around to your head, pressing his fingers over your pulse, intending to monitor it for Sid while he cauterises the wound. Sid gives him his trademark smirk, but somehow, it’s kind. It’s almost like he’s reassuring him that it’ll be okay.

Albert nods toward his jacket and Sid’s, muttering, “The wound needs to be lifted to lessen the bleeding. Sid, put the jackets under her hips.”

Sid nods, folding them up. Byron helps to lift your lower torso up, allowing Sid to slide them under, propping your hips up to direct the blood flow away from the wound.

It’s now that a weak, quiet cough chokes out of you. Albert’s pupils widen in alarm when he sees blood drip out of the side of your mouth, running down your cheek. “It must have damaged her lungs somewhere. From the positioning, it hasn’t done anything immediately fatal, but she must receive professional help quickly.”

Byron’s heart is pounding away. He tilts your upper torso around, leaning it against one of his thighs, to allow your head and neck to be facing to the side. Sid gives him a slightly grim look, instructing him bluntly, “Slap her.”

Byron jerks up, baffled. “What?”

Sid rolls his eyes. “Don’t have me executed. I’m saving her life doing this.” Without warning, he leans in closer to your face, shouting painfully loudly, “Hey, wake the hell up and help us out here, will you?”

And then he slaps you, hard, across the face.

Byron’s hand shoots out, gripping Sid’s wrist with enough force to make Sid scowl. “Stop. What on earth-”

“Your Majesty!” Albert says sharply, drawing his attention. He nods down to you.

Your eyes flutter open halfway, gaze unfocused, faraway and weak. You cough again, and a small amount of blood spatters against the wood. Sid lets out a breath. “If she’s awake, she’ll be able to keep coughing. Whatever’s in her lungs won’t kill her, or is less likely to, if it doesn’t pool up and drown her.”

Byron, although angry at Sid for hurting you more, is grateful for his quick thinking. He’s struggling to think straight for once in his life, too absorbed in emotions and panic. He’s thankful for Sid being there, for getting on with what needs to be done.

He gives the informant a nod, releasing his wrist. Sid smirks a little, pressing on the wound with Albert.

Nico returns now, a piece of burning wood in his hand. He hurries over, crouching next to Sid. “Here. It’s all I could make.”

Sid removes a hand from your side for a moment, then nods toward Byron. “Give him the wood. Cut her clothes so I can see what I’m doing.”

Byron decides to just trust in Sid and what he’s doing; he isn’t doing any of it because he wants to. He takes the wood from Nico, holding it away from the five of you, and watches Nico pick up the knife. He slices open your jacket in separate places, allowing him to cut it away from the wound and surrounding area, before he lifts your lesser armour away underneath and then cuts your top as well.

Finally, the wound is visible. Sid and Albert shift their hands while Nico uses a piece of your jacket to wipe the blood away, letting Sid see what he’s dealing with. He grunts. “It’s not too bad. It’s deep, but not wide, and it’s in her side. That’s good. From the looks of it, since it’s not spurting blood all over the place, it didn’t puncture anything – important, at least – and hasn’t cut up her insides too badly. I can seal it up for the most part.”

He takes one of his own daggers from his pocket, and Nico takes the burning wood back before he moves away, so Sid can have access to the flame. Sid sighs, scowling in irritation.

“It ain’t meant to be done like this by far, but it’s the only thing I can do to seal it up until we can get her to a doctor.” He lifts the knife up, letting it heat under the flame, as close to the wood as possible. He waits until it’s about to start glowing red, at which point he moves it out of the fire, but keeps it close. He looks to Byron.

“Scrunch up some of her jacket and let her bite on it. This is going to hurt her like hell, and she’s going to need something to help her through it. Restrain her hands as well.” He tells him lowly, quietly, glancing at your face. Byron does as he’s told, stomach churning and insides twisting at the thought of seeing you in more pain. He rolls up some of the jacket, putting a splint of wood inside it.

You whimper, turning your face away, obviously aware of what’s going to happen. Byron almost loses his cool, but for the sake of your life, he manages to force his way through. He gently opens your mouth, putting the roll of material between your teeth. Although fresh tears pour down your cheeks, you bite down on it, coughing again behind the jacket.

Nico speaks now, as Byron takes your hands and holds them out of the way. He looks to Albert. “Al, when you move your hands, hold her legs down. We can’t let her kick while he’s cauterising it.” Albert scowls, but he nods nonetheless. Sid puts the knife back in the flame, adding,

“And do me a favour, try to talk to her. It’ll keep her calmer and make it easier if you’re distracting her of all people.” Seeing Byron’s sharp look, he rolls his eyes. “Come on. It was pretty damn obvious when you nearly proposed to her the first time you saw her.”

Byron turns his gaze to you, recalling how his emotions got the better of him that day, how they made him do something he never should have dared to do. It’s probably going to cause a lot of problems after this.

_But for now, it can wait. First, you need to survive._

He leans down, hunching over your head in his lap, smoothing his fingers over yours. “___,” He utters, ever so softly, lips brushing against your cheek. He kisses the skin tenderly, the action hidden by his hair. “I love you with all I am. Remember what you promised me, and I promised you. We will live.”

More tears fall. You grip Byron’s fingers, nodding very weakly.

Sid lets out another breath. “Don’t look.”

Byron closes his eye. A second later, he hears the hissing of the scalding blade meeting your skin, and smells the scent of burning flesh. You start to scream.

Even muffled by the jacket, and by how hard you’re biting it, it’s still loud enough to echo through the whole church. Byron hushes you, trying to rein in his own feelings and emotional suffering, holding onto your hands hard. He sees your legs move, trying to kick out, but Albert secures them to the ground, not letting you move.

You soon start to cry out and sob, begging around the material to stop hurting you, to just kill you instead. Byron keeps murmuring to you, breathing out sweet nothings in your ear.

In what feels like a short eternity, Sid pulls away. He’s sweating and his hands are shaking slightly, but he nods, satisfied with what he’s done. “That’s good. It sealed up well.” Nico strips off his jacket, then his shirt, offering it to Sid.

“We can wrap it as much as we can with this. It might stem it a bit more until we can get her to the battlefield.” Sid nods, taking the shirt. Nico starts to put his jacket back on while Sid glances at your face.

You’re breathing heavily, skin flushed and damp with perspiration, expression set in pain. Your eyes open after a moment, though, agonised but somehow more conscious than before. You manage to meet Sid’s gaze, and the gratitude is clear as you stare at him. He gives you a grin, rather than a smirk, considering your condition. He starts to wrap the shirt around your middle, then press the excess against the mostly sealed wound.

“How you feeling?” He asks, trying to lighten the mood a bit and distract you. Byron removes the wad of material from your mouth, and you let out a sort of groaned, shaky sigh, managing to whisper hoarsely,

“Hurting. Everything-” You’re cut off as a violent cough shakes through you, another few drops of blood dripping from your lips. You wince. “Shit. Ow.” You scowl, closing your eyes. “S-Sorry.”

Byron strokes his hand over your hair, shaking his head. “What for?”

You grimace. “I… ow… swore.”

Sid snorts. Nico actually giggles. Albert just sighs. Byron smiles ever so slightly, despite the situation, continuing to stroke your hair.

A hoot nearby breaks the five of you from the conversation. Spinner swoops into the church, coming to perch on top of the altar. Not three seconds later, there are heavy, fast footsteps, and Xander and Tobias burst into the church.

Upon seeing little bits of your body, covered in blood, and your side wrapped in the shirt, they both go pale almost instantly.

“Oh my God. ___...” Xander breathes out, heading straight for you. He’s bloody as well, and a bit cut up, but overall he survived well. Tobias is the same, although he looks livid upon coming over and seeing your wound. Both of them, granted, pause in surprise at Alexander’s dead body beforehand.

“You’re joking me. She actually distracted that Larson bastard?” Upon seeing you wince, he scowls down at you. “You’re a fucking moron, ___. You know that? You know you can’t beat him! He’s not normal! Who killed him?”

Sid smirks. “I did. Granted, he was ready to kill so he was distracted and had his back turned, but I still killed him. She owes me big time.”

Tobias glares at him, then at Byron’s proximity to you and his hands around yours. Xander crouches down next to you, trying to assess your injuries and ignoring Byron completely. “How badly hurt is she?”

Albert speaks now, running through what he knows. “She has multiple cuts and minor wounds, has a slash on one side, and has been stabbed rather deeply on her other side, potentially piercing or damaging a lung. From what I’ve seen of her ribs while she’s been moving, and from the bruising I can find, she may have broken one or two as well.”

Xander swallows thickly, lightly pressing his fingers against your ribs on your right side. You don’t react, but when he does the same on the left side, you inhale sharply and yank your hand out of Byron’s, grabbing Xander’s wrist to stop him. Your face contorts with more pain, and he quickly squeezes your hand in apology. “She needs to get to the tents at least. If she’s been stabbed, it’ll easily get infected, and that’s more dangerous than blood loss.”

Tobias grunts, crouching next to his twin. “She should be kept flat, but we don’t have time to make a stretcher for her. Carrying her will have to do.”

Nico nods, responding, “The princess carry will be the best. It won’t put any pressure directly on the wound, and it’ll keep her flat enough. Another one of us could hold under her as well, to stop her from dipping and keep the blood flow at least even.”

Although disgruntled, Tobias seems satisfied with this. “Probably. I can’t think of any others.”

Sid chips in now, throwing his coat back on. “My arms are longer than all of yours. I can keep her more supported.” Seeing Xander and Tobias go to protest immediately, he rolls his eyes, snapping, “You want to protect her, right? Do you want both of you doing that, or one of you, while her safety gets split between one of us instead?”

Tobias scowls deeply. “Who the hell even are you? She’s our responsibility. We’ll take care of her-”

Sid leans in close to Tobias’ face, cutting him off in a sharp, blunt tone. “I’m the guy who just saved her life twice. Newsflash; she’s not just your responsibility. You don’t own her. She owns herself. All of us are evidently willing to help, so do me a favour; stop being an ungrateful prick.”

Before Tobias can retort anything, your weak, almost inaudible voice stops him. “Tobias… stop. He helped.”

He remains silent. Sid smirks smugly, then reaches under your back and knees, preparing to lift you up. He looks up at Byron. “Help me keep her back supported while I pick her up. I’ll see how much she dips when I stand up, then go from there.”

Byron nods, glad to be of assistance. He slips out from under your head and upper body, Sid supporting it instead, before he kneels in front of Sid, placing his hands on your back. “Ready?”

Sid returns the nod. He pushes to his feet, curling his arms you properly, before he moves his elbows to keep your back a bit straighter. He shifts you around for a moment, making sure he can hold your back up with his forearm and elbow. Happy with it, he moves back from Byron, releasing you from under his hands. You remain in the same position, one hand weakly holding onto his shoulder, the other pressing against your side.

“You okay?” Sid asks you. You nod slowly, looking like you’re getting weaker by the second. He grunts, tightening his grip on you.

“Let us move, then, now. We don’t have time to waste.” Byron says, voice stronger with determination and a more normal degree of command.

Nico and Albert both incline their heads, moving to his sides. Xander gives Tobias a look, silently communicating to him to work with Byron. He lets out a frustrated breath, but he doesn’t protest, instead moving to cover Sid’s rear right. Xander goes to his rear left, but not before shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over you.

Seeing Albert’s questioning look, he speaks quickly, his words simple. “She lost enough blood already. The last thing we need is her going hypothermic.”

No one can argue against that.

They all exit the church after Nico confirms that Alexander is very much dead, heading through the forest at a moderate pace. Sid takes care not to jostle you as much as possible, continuing to monitor your condition while he walks. Every minute or so, Xander checks that you’re breathing and takes your pulse, ensuring that your vitals aren’t dropping too low.

They expect to meet resistance in the woods, but they find nothing. Spinner flies overhead, guiding them back toward the battlefield.

Thankfully, without further issue or threat, they break through the trees. The living Alderan soldiers who surrendered have all been brought together and restrained by this point, the war having been won by Byron’s side. The Prime Minister of Protea is on his knees as well, in chains and under the custody of Alyn. Said knight looks over upon spotting Byron approaching from the forest, but he swiftly stills when he sees you behind Byron, nearly unconscious again in Sid’s arms and covered in blood.

He walks over rapidly, firing out questions; all of the knights still alive – not just yours – were told why you had to run off, and it was accepted without much resistance. Many of the knights had seen Alexander fighting and knew that he was a major threat, and so if anything are grateful that you lured him from the battlefield. “Your Majesty. Are you alright? Is General ___?”

Byron gives a curt nod, even though it’s not exactly true. “I’m fine. General ___ has suffered severe wounds and is in need of medical attention.”

Alyn’s eyes go wide for a moment; for someone like you to have been badly wounded, you must have fought someone pretty strong and skilled. “Right.”

Sid stalks past now, grunting at the aching in his arms; as much as he’s strong, this style of carry is difficult, since the weight is distributed in front of him. “Oi. Where are the medics?”

Byron nods toward the Steiner encampment. “There. Come with me; she’ll go straight to my doctor.”

Sid huffs, but he’s smirking slightly. “Letting her get treated first, huh? You must really-”

“Sid, enough.” Byron interrupts him, tone warning. Sid chuckles darkly, following Byron across the battlefield. The floor is soaked in blood. Knights are cheering throughout, although some are with bodies of fellow knights, some weeping, some covering them up with sheets, some gathering enemy bodies together.

But many stare, mortified, frozen, when they see your seemingly lifeless body being carried across the field.

Their leader. Their saviour. Now, unconscious and dripping with blood. It’s sickening to them all.

Byron is feeling his own injuries now. He lets out a pained sigh, feeling his chest still aching and bleeding slowly. He’ll have to get it looked at once you’re stable.

Upon reaching the medical tent used for Byron, Nico and Albert, a much smaller one, Albert runs off to find the royal doctor. Sid heads straight for table set up in the middle, covered by a cloth, before carefully laying you down on it. Your head lolls to the side now, limp. Byron’s heart constricts painfully, and he is quick to feel for your pulse, finding it even weaker and slower again.

The doctor arrives now, pausing for a moment in surprise at the sight of you on the table instead of Byron. The latter speaks before the doctor can.

“She’s severely wounded; she’s been stabbed deeply in her side and the knife possibly damaged her lung. She’s been coughing up blood consistently and has lost significant amount of it. We also suspect that she may have sustained injuries to her ribs.” He shrugs off his armour with a slight wince, then takes off his jacket and the lesser armour underneath.

“You will treat her first. I will not allow myself to be treated until I am satisfied that she is stable.” The doctor seems completely shocked, and for a long second simply stands there, staring at Byron.

But then, he swiftly kicks into gear, nodding furiously. “Of course, Your Majesty. As you wish.” He approaches your prone form quickly, starting to assess your condition after taking Xander’s jacket off you.

He and Tobias have been trying to assure your knights that you’ll survive, albeit not very well, and now enter the tent after telling the guards who they are. They watch the doctor getting to work, pulling out tools and bottles from bags and crates.

Sid sighs heavily, slumping down onto the makeshift floor. “Man. I need a drink so bad. Any chance the alcohol in here is consumable?”

Tobias glares at him from the side. “Not if you don’t want your insides to end up in ashes. I wouldn’t stop you if you tried, though.”

Sid returns the glare, but Byron speaks before either of them get the chance. “Enough. Be quiet so the doctor can work.”

They fall silent, backing down against the authority of the king. Byron sits in one of the few chairs in the room, his eye never leaving your face.

He’s sick with worry. He’s terrified, observing your bloodless skin, your body completely still and silent on the table, noticing the blood starting to seep out of the wound and soak into the cloth covering the table.

“You cauterised the wound, yes?” The doctor mumbles.

Byron nods. “Yes. Otherwise, we couldn’t have brought her over here. She was losing too much blood.”

The doctor nods in understanding. “Whoever’s call it was, it was a good one, and they did a mighty good job of it, as well.”

Sid’s smug grin returns. He looks straight at Tobias. “You owe me an apology.”

Tobias growls. “I don’t owe you-”

“We do owe him.” Xander’s soft voice somehow overpowers his twin’s, and he looks to Sid, levelling him with a respectful, grateful stare. “Thank you, for saving her and helping to get her here safely. Ignore Tobias; we’re in your debt.”

Sid just rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Don’t say that now or you’ll jinx it. Better wait until she wakes up to say that.”

The doctor finishes his preparations now, face grave. “She’s weak. She certainly has lost a lot of blood.” He turns to Albert. “Could you go to the main tent and see if there are one or two free nurses available, please?”

Albert nods, bowing, before going off to do as he says. The rest of them are silent for a long, few seconds, until Byron finally speaks again. “Will she survive?”

The doctor doesn’t answer straight away, instead rubbing the wound with a cleaning alcohol, then repeating this with disinfectant. You let out a soft moan of pain even in unconsciousness, and the sound is like a stab to the heart for Byron. “I cannot say, Your Majesty. I can’t guarantee that I can fix whatever damage has been done, since it has seemingly been a while since she was first stabbed. Her body has suffered immense stress and injury.”

He meets his king’s gaze, expression grimly determined. “But I will do what I can to ensure that she lives.”

Byron nods slowly. Albert returns with two nurses, who immediately go to the table, seeing what they’re needed for. As they descend into medical jargon and begin their efforts to save you, Byron can only watch, hoping and praying, begging all the powers, that the world will be kind to you. He asks it to save you, so that he can give you the life it has failed to provide for you.

Xander has approached Byron while he’s been thinking, and now he addresses him directly, voice low. “King Byron, if I could, I’d like to have a word with you. Before she survives and wakes up, that is.”

Byron seriously considers saying no. He shouldn’t have to talk to him. He wants to stay right where he is, to keep watching, making sure you’re still alive. He will not abandon you.

But he knows you would probably say that he should let him speak, because it’s probably something important.

He stands up wordlessly, trying to shrug off the tugging of his heart, anchoring him to you. He exits the tent through the back opening, so that none of the knights can see him. Xander follows, coming to stand in front of him. Byron speaks emotionlessly, eye making it obvious that he wants to make this quick. “What is it?”

Xander studies him for a long few seconds, scrutinising him. Finally, he frowns, something deep and painful swirling in his eyes. “It’s not the best time to ask this, but I won’t be leaving her side once she survives and is moved. King Byron, what are your feelings for ___?”

Byron doesn’t breathe a single word. Xander’s frown deepens, and it looks like someone may as well have hit him. “I thought so.” He breathes out softly. There’s obvious suffering in his voice, a turmoil Byron’s never heard before. He almost feels guilty for loving you. Almost.

But Byron will not be the only one in the spotlight. He replies lowly, quietly, evenly. “I would be right to assume, then, that I am correct in my suspicions that you have feelings for her as well? And Tobias?”

Xander sucks in a breath, recoiling back slightly. He presses his lips together tightly, now taking a turn to remain silent.

Byron doesn’t want to do this now. It’s irrelevant and unimportant. He shakes his head. “This isn’t something to be discussed now. This is a matter to be settled when she isn’t fighting for her life. I would much rather remain in there to make sure she’s stable.”

He breezes past Xander, heading for the tent again. He only glances behind him very, very briefly, even though he knows he shouldn’t have.

He elects to ignore the tears he sees streaming down Xander’s face.

He pretends to not see him collapse to the ground, sobbing silently into the earth.


	14. Part XIV | Edge of Death.

**†** **♛** **†**

The next eight hours are easily the worst of Byron’s life. Every second is the epitome of torture.

He never leaves the tent, remaining in his seat while you’re treated. The nurses are constantly monitoring your condition, but while you’re still in dangerous health, you’re not at immediate risk of death by the eighth hour. The doctor manages to operate after your blood levels rise slightly, finding the slight puncture in your lung, and gets to work with sewing it up.

Byron is frozen, almost consumed with fear, as the doctor operates. He waits the whole time, hoping, praying, begging the stars that you’ll survive. He waits for the moment the doctor will tell him you’ve died under the knife.

But, although with shaky hands and obvious nerves, his expertise and irrefutable abilities shine through while he works. He eventually completely seals up the stab wound, sewing it up tightly and treating your other wounds. Everyone leaves the room while he and the nurses do their best to clean you up, washing the blood away.

Somehow, you survive. Somehow, you don’t bleed out. You’re so, so weak, body absolutely exhausted and at its limit, but you’re alive.

Somehow, your poor body has pulled itself through hell _again_.

By now, the Steiner, Linderan, Laurelian and Wysterian knights who are only slightly injured or completely unharmed have taken back the moderately wounded knights, escorting them home. Yours have also done this, so that now the only people left in the area are the badly wounded, and those who are assisting with dealing with the bodies of the dead.

By a joint decision between the leaders, the King and Queen of Wysteria having briefly come down to see the injured, the victorious countries will temporarily take control of Protea and Alder.

That is, until Lindera’s queen is ready to take full reign of her country in the king’s place. And, of course, until the rest of the leaders who fought have recovered enough to attend the meetings. The Laurelian king survived, but with heavy wounds, and he scraped through a heart attack on the battlefield.

Byron has been treated by this point, having suffered a deep slice to his upper-right chest, several other, granted shallower, gashes across his sides and arms, and he has some bruising on his side.

He barely notices the pain, though. Once he washes himself down, still in the royal medical tent, then changes into the fresh clothes a knight brought from the castle, he feels much better.

You’re still on the table, completely unconscious.

Xander rides back to Vinessia with Tobias shortly after speaking with Byron, returning with clothes for you, as well as more medicine and medical supplies for all of the injured knights. You’re in your clothes and are wrapped in thick blankets because of your heavy blood loss, still and silent.

Byron’s heart aches as he watches you. No one else is in the tent, since Xander and Tobias are helping with the Vinessian knights, assisting the doctors and nurses in the main tent, and both Albert and Nico are gathering reports for Byron. Sid has already returned to Wysteria, having “Done his bit” to help out.

Byron lets out a breath. He can’t suppress the anxiety coiling inside him. He wants you to wake up.

He approaches the table slowly, quietly, almost like he’s subconsciously thinking you’re merely asleep. He stares down at your empty expression, eyes shut and mouth set in a thin line, breathing shallow even though you’re unconscious. It’s to be expected, considering your injuries and the damage to your lung, but it still makes him wish he could do something. He wishes he could take the pain away and make you forget everything that happened, so you can wake up and be happy.

He lifts his hand, standing beside you, being cautious of his injured chest. He reaches down to brush his thumb over your cheek, and almost immediately, his stomach clenches with concern. Your skin is bloodless, and the flesh is cool, nearly cold. It’s so unlike the warmth he’s always felt from you, like when he told you his feelings and let you fall asleep on him, and when he kissed you for the first time, and when he spent the night with you two days ago.

It reminds him of death. It’s terrifying.

He leans down, brushing his mouth very lightly over your forehead. His eye closes, and he silently mourns not being able to smell your normal scent. All he can make out is blood, disinfectant and the grass from outside. Letting out a long, heavy sigh, he presses a kiss there, murmuring, “The worst is over. You don’t have to fight anyone now. Come back to me.”

No response. He swallows back the swell of disappointment rising up in him, standing up straight again.

“Your Majesty,” A familiar voice says behind him, softly, different to its usual tone. “Most of the knights still in care are stable enough to return home. The other nations’ leaders are preparing to move them out now. I would advise that we do the same; we are still in a vulnerable position here.”

Byron’s eye doesn’t leave your face. He listens to your breathing, continuing to stroke your cheek, then your hair. “Are all of them guaranteed to survive?”

Albert is silent for a long few seconds. Finally, he answers, clearing his throat quietly. “No. Some of them may die on the way, Your Majesty. If we can move slowly, there’s less chance that their injuries will deteriorate, however. We are close to the castle, so our knights should be able to make it, but the same cannot be said for those of the other countries.”

He imagines your wound bursting open halfway between here and Vinessia, imagines you having survived it all, only to die trying to reach home.

A very small, but very shaky breath escapes him. He can’t take that risk, not for you and not for the other knights. All of them, regardless of where they come from, deserve the world for what they’ve done. Stein can cope with the wounded, easily. It can cater for the injured until they’re strong enough to go home.

“Inform the leaders that Stein will host the wounded if they wish, until they can make the trip home. We have centres waiting for the injured. It’s not a problem.” He murmurs quietly, but Albert hears him loud and clear. He nods, placing a hand on his heart and bowing deeply.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” He turns around, leaving the tent.

He spends another hour waiting there with you, with Albert and Nico popping in and out with updates every so often. The other leaders accept Stein’s offer gratefully, and they quickly set up groups of knights to escort and stay with the wounded until they can make it home.

Ten hours after the battle ended, Xander and Tobias come in with the doctor, who bows deeply before speaking. “If it’s alright with you, Your Majesty, the injured have been lifted into carts and are ready to be taken to Stein. Your carriage is waiting outside.” Seeing Byron’s mute nod, he rises up slowly, now speaking almost hesitantly. “If I may be so bold, we need to move General ___ out to one of the carts.”

_Does he really think I’ll allow her to ride back to Stein in a cart, exposed to the elements, in her condition? Some of the other knights aren’t as badly wounded as her and will be able to cope, but she’s brushed death once more. She cannot be at such a dangerous risk._

The thought strikes him immediately. It seems completely obvious.

_She’ll ride in my carriage with me._

“Her condition is far from stable.” He responds, levelling the doctor with an even stare. “I highly doubt that having her moved while exposed to the elements will do anything but worsen it.”

Xander frowns slightly. He gives Byron a tiny nod. “She’s weak, even more so than when she was hurt after the revolution, and she barely pulled through that. It can’t be any good for her.”

Tobias comes to stand on the other side of the table next to you, placing a hand on your cheek without remotely hesitating. Byron resists the urge to narrow his eye while the former speaks, not failing to notice him briefly check your pulse. “She’s cool already. Going out there’s only going to bring her temperature down more, and considering how much blood she lost, it could easily kill her. We can’t risk it.”

Xander looks on worriedly, gaze trained on your face. “But I don’t want her staying out here any longer. It’s still cold here in this position, and it’s not safe nor suitable for someone so injured. She’s more likely to contract an infection.”

Byron listens to all this calmly, silently, before he makes his blunt suggestion. “She can ride in my carriage. She can come straight back to Stein Castle, since she is one of the worst injured, and the others who are less stable can remain in the castle as well. They’ll receive the most urgent attention and will be monitored more closely, giving them the best chance of survival.”

Tobias stiffens. Xander’s frown deepens.

Tobias replies, voice tight and terse. “With all due respect, Your Highness, how come?” He meets Byron’s gaze, and the latter knows immediately that he’s not just angry because he despises his royalty. He can see hurt swirling in those blue hues, the same agony he saw in Xander’s eyes earlier. “You’re putting yourself at risk by having her with you if she gets sick. What’s making you want to help her so much?”

“Tobias, don’t-” Xander starts, warning his twin. The doctor, sensing that he shouldn’t be sticking around to hear this, bows swiftly and ducks back out of the tent again. Xander doesn’t get to finish.

“Don’t tell me to be quiet. ___’s not in the position to represent herself and our country, and we’re the next representatives for them both.” Tobias turns back on Byron. “I want to know your intentions. I want to know what you’re planning to do with her. I don’t trust Stein in the slightest. I never have. Neither has she. But now she trusts you and I don’t have a clue in hell why.”

_Why does she trust me?_

Byron thinks for a long few seconds, considering telling Tobias outright.

_I shouldn’t say anything without her telling me she doesn’t mind._

Tobias scoffs. “Actually, I do have an idea why. Xander told me yesterday, and it makes me sick thinking about it.”

Xander takes a step toward his twin, raising his voice. “Tobias! Enough!”

But before Xander reaches him, a new sound cuts through the tension around them. A hoarse, choked cough. A pained breath hissed out from a weakened body.

“S… stop… it…”

They all whip around to you. Your eyes are open fractionally, face contorted in pain.

Xander bolts over to your side, immediately firing questions at you, smoothing your hair away from your face. “Thank God, ___. Can you breathe? How bad is the pain? What can I do to help?”

You close your eyes again, breaths coming out harshly, too short and strained. “Don’t… nngh…” You swallow thickly, seeming to struggle to do so. “… don’t s- shout at him. Not his… fault.”

Tobias has been stock still up until this point, but now he looks like someone may as well have ripped his heart out and burned it before him. “___, he’s a king. You can’t trust royals. They don’t-”

You force your eyes open again, and the suffering in them is as clear as day. You seem to try to push yourself up, even though you can barely move your arms, and both Xander and Byron hold you down straight away.

“He’s not like them… Tobias.” You’re abler to speak now, although your voice is still scratchy and extremely sore. “He can be trusted. If he wanted me dead… he would have done it by now. He’s not playing a game. He’s not like Stefan.”

Tobias recoils back, as if you’ve struck him with your words. “___, whatever he’s told you, it’s an act. How can you know he’s not just messing with you? What if he just wants you close to him so he can do whatever he wants? His father-”

Rage flushes through Byron.

_I am not him._

“My father made his own mistakes. I would appreciate it if you didn’t raise such an irrelevant point. I never agreed with his tyranny.” His voice is hard and unforgiving when he says this, colder and more ruthless than ever. Tobias glares at him, fury practically rolling from him now.

“You can say that, but it doesn’t mean you won’t betray her. I’m trying to stop her from suffering more than she already has-”

“Tobias, be quiet!”

Your voice practically whips through the air, lashing out at his will and forcing him to fall silent. It cracks halfway through, you having tried to shout, and now you descend into a series of violent coughs straight after.

Panic rushes through Byron, but he can do little as you’re hit by more, shaking your body atop the table. Gasping for breath, you clutch your side, a stifled cry of pain escaping you; the coughs have tightened your muscles, and now Byron can see you squeezing your eyes shut, teeth gritted together in agony.

The doctor returns now, apparently having heard you and deciding that he needs to make sure you’re alright. He rubs your back and peels away the covers, then your top, exposing your side. He sighs in relief, not seeing any blood seeing through the thick bandages, before he glances around the three men. “With all due respect, Your Highness, Sirs, she should not be subjected to any stress at all, especially so soon after receiving such severe wounds. She must be moved to the castle, quickly, without further arguing.”

Xander seems more than happy to do this, nodding. “Of course. You said there was a stretcher to lift her onto?”

The doctor nods, gesturing toward the crates of medicine. “It’s behind those crates.” He looks back down at you, observing your state carefully, watching your shallow breaths and constant expression of pain. He pulls your top back down. “General ___? If you can, try to slow your breathing. It will be less painful for you.”

You nod as much as you can, sucking in a shorter breath, then letting it out slowly. Your fingers curl into the covers, gripping them painfully tightly while you work through the burning process of breathing in. You manage to get in a longer breath, granted trembling while you do. Xander comes over with the stretcher, simply a long plank of wood with two handles on each end. Normally, things like this would be extravagant and specially made for royals, but ones for battlefields have no need to be. It’s pointless and makes them unnecessarily heavy.

Just as Xander reaches the table, Albert and Nico peek inside the tent. Nico speaks, asking, “King Byron, is everything alright? The carriage is ready.”

Byron nods, trying to silence the anger still bubbling inside him. “Yes. General ___ will be riding in my carriage to protect her from the elements, since she’s so vulnerable from her injuries.”

Nico seems to click on swiftly, spotting the stretcher. He moves to Xander’s side straight away, giving him a smile. “Here, I’ll help.”

Xander blinks, although he doesn’t look outright opposed to the prospect of assistance. He hesitates for a moment, then nods slowly. “Alright. Can I ask why?”

Nico beams at him, inclining his head toward you. “General ___ has done a lot for everyone since she’s become Vinessia’s leader. But, more importantly, she did what I failed to during the battle. I owe her for that with my life.”

Xander’s stiff shoulders relax slightly at that. He gives the stretcher to Nico, who takes it from him, before moving around the table to the other side. “Thank you. I’ll lift her up; can you slide it under her?”

Nico nods back. “Of course.”

Xander puts a hand under your back, then under your thighs, as high up as he can. He glances down at you. “___, can you try to keep yourself straight when I lift you up? It’s only for a second. Try not to tense too much.”

“Yeah…” You mumble in response, exhausted and pain-ridden, energy seemingly running out again. Xander lifts you up with the covers, only for maybe two seconds, but it’s enough for Nico to slide the stretcher underneath you, setting it down. Xander lowers you onto it again, and it’s now that he looks to Byron.

“Are you sure it’s not a problem, King Byron?” He asks, tone respectful and genuine. Byron doesn’t hesitate in nodding, feeling better already at the thought of being able to stay with you during the ride back.

“Of course.” He turns to Albert. “Albert, have the free doctors assess the knights and find those who are the worst injured and most likely to deteriorate on the way to Stein. Have it arranged so that they will be taken back to the castle with us.”

The tall knight looks marginally taken aback by this, but he wipes his expression clean and bows once more, trusting his king’s words. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

He ducks out of the tent again, and now Nico moves his gaze to Xander again. “Want help moving her to the carriage?”

Xander sends Tobias a brief look. His twin stares back, almost glaring, something deep and dark boiling in his eyes. He clenches his jaw tightly. Xander lets out a quiet breath, then nods, looking back to the Steiner. “If you would like.”

Nico bobs his head up and down, moving to the bottom end of the stretcher. “Definitely.” He grabs both handles, Xander doing the same. “On three?” Seeing Xander return the nod again, he counts down, tightening his grip. “One, two, three.”

They both lift the stretcher, and the doctor hurries to the flaps of the tent, opening them. He goes out, Tobias following behind furiously.

It’s night-time now, since the battle ended at about five and it’s been roughly ten and a half hours since then. It’s pitch black outside, except for the torches and candles that are lit, dotted around the encampment and attached to carriages or carts.

Byron takes a moment to look around the tent. He can see your clothes to the side, bloodied and waiting to be retrieved by someone or gotten rid of. Byron goes over, seeing something glint in the light of the candles. When he crouches down in front of the clothes, he reaches forward, feeling something hard and metal underneath.

Moving the material out of the way, he peers down, only to realise that it’s the throwing knives and whistle he gave you.

_Xander and Tobias must have retrieved one or two of the knives from the forest. She didn’t have them on her when we found her._

He picks the knives up, then the whistle. He takes a moment to study the slightly bloody ring still attached to it, his heart churning with emotions.

On one hand, he feels sick looking at it. This is your blood. You suffered because of an alliance and an agreement you made with his country. His promise to you could have been shattered because he put you in danger.

But on the other hand… you saved so many people by fighting. You stopped many, many knights from dying, and now that you’re going to survive this, he’ll be able to keep his promise. He’ll give this ring to you and promise you everything you want, whether it includes him in the picture or not. He’ll do whatever is necessary to make you happy and show you a world other than suffering and pain.

He raises the whistle to his lips, kissing the bloodied crystals in a silent promise.

He stands up now, putting the cord around his neck and dropping the whistle inside his jacket. He feels it settle next to his own, which is just as covered in crimson, but the sensation is oddly warming somehow. It’s like a reminder that you’ve both survived.

He leaves the tent with your clothes, heading straight for the carriage. He watches as you’re lifted onto the inner seat by Xander while Nico carries the stretcher out of the way, then secured it to the luggage part of the carriage. Since the royal tent is out of the way and separate from the main one for the other knights, no one else is around, and there are only a few Steiner knights guarding the area. Feeling grateful for the privacy, he makes his way over to the carriage, studying Xander settle you on the seat and pull the covers around as tight as he can.

_He loves her, just like I do. So does Tobias._

He takes in the kind, relieved look on Xander’s face, the gentle set of his eyes and mouth.

I _don’t mind Xander. I almost hate Tobias._

Xander stands up and climbs out now, although Byron immediately notices the way he’s hesitant about it, slow and like something’s dragging him back toward you. He smiles in his mind, thinking that he can now relate to why he’s doing that. “Thank you for this, King Byron. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for her. Please, forgive Tobias, and don’t be angry at ___ for it.”

Byron just nods, seeing Xander sigh in relief. “It’s fine. It’s understandable that he’s not particularly fond of me, with his association regarding royalty and his feelings for ___. Granted, if he takes things too far, I will not tolerate it.”

Xander rubs the back of his head, looking almost pained again. “He’s… struggling. He didn’t take it well yesterday when I told him, because he’ll need time to adjust. He never expected it, so he doesn’t know how to come to terms with it.”

Byron raises an eyebrow. “Did you expect it?”

Xander’s silent for a long moment. Then, he glances back at you, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “I had my suspicions. I prepared myself a while ago, just in case I was right. I’m glad I did.”

Byron locates the three others. Tobias is stood off to the side, leaning against a tree, scowling at the ground. Albert and Nico are waiting patiently near royal tent. He moves slightly closer to Xander, lowering his voice. “I know you have your doubts about me, which is again expected due to who I am and the conservative nature of my country. However, I hold no ill intent for neither ___ or Vinessia. I wish only to make our countries prosper and stronger.”

Xander sighs softly, the sad smile coming back. “It’ll take time for us to fully trust you – and by that I mean both us personally, and our nation in general, just as we’d expect from you and Stein of us.” His gaze drifts back to you again, almost like he doesn’t even notice how often he looks at you. “May I ask something personal?”

Byron’s guards go up. He considers saying no, just like earlier, and instead opts to go to you first. He doesn’t think it’s fair to make Xander separate from you when Tobias certainly isn’t staying with you, so he decides to meet in the middle with it. “I’m assuming it’s related to this matter.” Xander inclines his head slightly. “Then, I would think it best to discuss it without fear of being overhead. You would like to remain with her during the ride, yes?”

Xander inclines his head again, shoulders tensing. Byron glances at the carriage very briefly. “If you wish, I don’t mind if you ride with us. I’m sure it would ease Tobias’ nerves as well, and we can speak freely on the way.”

A heavy, long sigh escapes him, and his body seems to sag, losing all its tension. “You wouldn’t mind?” Byron shakes his head. “Please. Thank you, King Byron.”

Byron simply nods, sending Albert a brief look, communicating that it’s time to leave. Albert walks away, toward the main encampment, and Nico approaches them both. “Al and I will ride with the carriage. The others will follow behind, and the ones who aren't going to the castle will be directed to the centres by our knights.”

Satisfied with this, Byron makes a low sound of agreement. “Good. Let us go then, now.”

Nico heads toward the main camp now, and Xander calls over to Tobias. “I’m staying with her for the ride. Are you going to be okay riding alongside us?”

Tobias gives a curt nod. “Yeah. Best place for me to be right now.”

With that, he stalks off, going to find his horse near the main bulk of carts and carriages. Byron says nothing, since there’s nothing more to be said, before climbing up and into the carriage. Upon sitting down, he sees your eyes open slowly, only fractionally, before they lift to meet his gaze. He has to use all of his willpower not to reach across and kiss you. “How do you feel?”

You try to smile, but it ends up as more of a grimace, tinged with pain. “Not good. Everything hurts. Breathing really hurts.” Xander climbs into the carriage as well, shutting the door, and Byron knocks on the roof to the driver. “Xander?”

Said male gives you a kind smile, perching on the soft cushion beside Byron. “Hey. Byron let me ride with you so I can make sure you’re okay.” His lips quickly turn down, and he rests his elbows on his knees as the carriage gently starts to move. “___, if you can, I’d like you to tell me something. It’s… not exactly important all things considered, but…”

Byron can see your face change, sees the pain in your eyes change to something deeper. “Okay.”

You’re afraid. You don’t know what to expect.

Xander’s expression softens. He breathes in deeply, seeming to prepare himself, before he glances at Byron as well. “I’m already quite sure of the answer, but… are you two… together?”

Your heart drops in your chest. You move your gaze to outside, unable to meet his gaze but not wanting to look at Byron and make it obvious.

Byron does the same. He won’t say anything until you will.

Xander nods slowly. His voice is almost hollow when he speaks again. “I think it’s safe to take that as a yes, then.”

You raise your eyes now, and Byron moves his own to meet them. You share a long, intense look, speaking without saying anything.

_He knows. Denying it will only hurt him more._

_It’s your choice. I will trust your decision._

He gives you a tiny, almost non-existent smile. You release a painful breath, wincing and closing your eyes for a moment.

_Everything hurts. Breathing hurts. Thinking hurts. Moving hurts. Even sleeping hurts._

You open them again. Your hues settle on Xander, and he immediately returns the gaze. “I’m sorry, Xander. We weren’t going to tell anyone until after everything settled down, because we weren’t even sure if we’d make it through this.” You manage a little, weak smile, although it’s wry as well. “Granted, with how much pain I’m in, I can’t promise anything yet.”

Byron’s heart aches. Xander swallows thickly.

It’s silent for a long few seconds.

Then, Xander moves off the seat to kneel on the floor, next to your own seat. He takes your hand, peeking over the top of the covers against your chest, before kissing your knuckle. He closes his eyes, mumbling into your skin, “I’m sorry.”

You frown, shaking your head. “What for?”

He closes his eyes, burying his face in your palm. Although Byron does feel a pang of discomfort at the sight, he knows it’s necessary. “For falling in love with you. Tobias is the same. He asked me to tell you, since he’s not himself right now.”

Byron sees the shock on your face, watches your expression collapse with shock. Devastation dominates your eyes, so strong that it’s painful.

Your heart immediately starts to ache, adding to your already-existing agony. You can barely move, thoughts whirling.

_They’re… in love with me?_

You can only stare down at Xander as he swallows thickly again, clinging onto your hand, not moving his face from it. You can feel the moisture from his tears on your palm.

_I’ve only ever seen them as my best friends. I never thought they’d possibly…_

You can barely think. You’re still too weak, too messed up, to process this. “Xander…”

He takes in a quiet breath, shaking his head against your hand. “You don’t have to say anything; I’m not expecting you to. I just wanted to get it out, so that I can… so that me and Tobias can…” His voice breaks, and something deep inside you shatters at the sound. “So we can move on, and go back to how things were.”

He pulls his face away from your hand, and you can see his skin glistening in the light of the lamps hanging from the outside of the carriage. He squeezes your hand lightly, swiping at the dampness on his face with the other. “If you’re certain that this is what’s right for you, and that you’re safe and will be happy with King Byron, I’ll accept that without further question. Tobias isn’t as ready to do that, but he will in time. I just want to make sure it’s definitely what you want.”

You can barely hold back your overflowing emotions. You just want to sleep, to stop thinking and having to feel all of the pain that’s consuming you.

Byron’s heart twinges in his chest, something that almost feels like worry surfacing inside him. A small part of him expects you to say no. He almost thinks you’ll have changed your mind and will say you don’t want to be with him.

Even so… of course you’re certain. Of course you trust Byron and want to be with him. Of course you’re absolutely sure that you want to spend as much of your life with him as humanly possible.

You nod, very weakly, but your words are strong. “Yes, I’m certain. I want to be with him.”

Xander nods slowly, but he manages to smile, and this time it seems real. Hurt, and hurting a lot, but genuine. “Okay. I want you to understand that I’m not trying to act like a parent or be overwhelming, or controlling of you. I just want you to be happy and safe.”

You swallow thickly, chest aching, from both his words and from your injuries. “I know that. I know it’s because you care, Xander. I’ve never questioned that with you.”

He manages a soft, almost defeated laugh, nodding. “That’s good to know.” He turns to Byron, and the latter wonders what he could possibly have to say.

“King Byron, I’d just like to make it clear that even though ___ has decided to be with you, Tobias and I are still her best friends as well as her bodyguards. Her happiness, safety and security is everything to us, so I would ask that you don’t do anything to hurt her. I don’t want any sort of conflict with you nor Stein, but if something happens to her, we will take action.”

_Those are the words of a man who truly cares for her. I respect that, and accept that condition._

Byron nods, speaking clearly, strongly and with certainty. “I will only try to make her as happy as I can. I have the utmost respect for her and would never do anything that would even risk hurting her. I will swear that not only as the King of Stein, but as the man Byron Wagner. I promise to do everything I can to give her the life she wants.”

His words strike deep in your heart, making your stomach clench and heartbeat pound away, despite the lack of blood in your body.

_Byron…_

Love swells inside you. All you want is for him to hold you.

Xander seems satisfied with this and nods, letting out a soft sigh. “Thank you.” He leans against your seat, dropping his head back and onto your thigh. “I’m so tired. We can sleep for next few days, can’t we?”

You don’t respond. Both Byron and Xander look to you, seeing your breathing becoming harsh again, face betraying severe pain. It’s getting worse, and you’re feeling weaker again. You wonder if this is a good or bad thing.

“___?” Xander asks, kneeling in front of you again, tightening his grip on your hand. Byron leans forward, watching and waiting for you to respond. You don’t have the energy to, and can’t make yourself form any sort of sound, so all you can do is let your eyes fall closed, trying to calm yourself and regulate your breathing. Alarm stirs in Byron’s chest, and he tries to ignore the panic he feels when he wonders if you’re deteriorating already.

“___.” He murmurs, body moving of its own decision. He kneels beside Xander, thinking that it’s not a priority right now to stay emotionless and do nothing when you’re obviously getting worse. He places his fingers against your throat, feeling for your pulse. It’s quick, far too quick, and your breaths come out in rapid, shallow bursts. “___, slow your breathing. Control it. You’re hyperventilating.”

You barely register his words. Your mind is hazy, and it takes a considerable amount of effort just to process them. You try to force a response out despite the iron chains of exhaustion. “C… can’t… hurts… won’t stop…”

Xander frowns deeply. “I can try to get something from the supply carts. Herbs or medicine, maybe, to calm her.”

Considering that you’re going to pass out and most likely deprive yourself of oxygen if you carry on, Byron nods, eye never leaving your face. “If you can, that would be wise. Signal to the others to stop.”

Xander gives him a weak, wry smile. “That’s not necessary. I’m ___’s bodyguard; I’ll get it while we’re moving.”

Ignoring Byron’s slow blink at him, he kisses your knuckles, then offers your hand to the young monarch. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

Byron’s taken aback by Xander’s change of attitude now that you’ve confirmed that you want to be with the former, but he deeply respects and appreciates it, as well. He takes your hand, cradling it tenderly, before nodding. “I’ll try to calm her down.”

Xander nods back mutely. Then, he opens the door, swinging himself backward and shutting it behind him. Byron hears him jump onto the back part of the carriage, and then it sways slightly before stilling again.

_He’s an odd one, certainly._

He returns his gaze to you now, leaning in closer since Xander’s gone. “___,” He breathes out, moving the hand feeling your pulse to stroke your hair. “What can I do to help?”

Your eyes open, gaze faraway and distracted. You practically can’t speak because of how hard and fast you’re breathing. “Don’t know… breathing… can’t slow… down… really hurts.”

There’s one thing he can try. It might make you worse, but with how this is going, he’s running out of options.

“Focus on me.” He murmurs, voice low and deep and rich. Confusion fills your eyes, and he rests his forehead against yours. “Only on me.”

Without any warning, he leans in and covers your lips with his, kissing you hard and stopping you from getting anymore air in.

He can taste your blood. It makes his stomach churn.

You stiffen under him, body stilling instantly, even though your lungs are still trying desperately to find more oxygen. By instinct, your head tries to move back, to get air in, but he clasps his hand around the back of it to keep you there. A muffled sound escapes you, brain whirling for a way to breathe.

It finds one quickly. You start breathing through your nose instead.

Somehow, it’s easier to control it. You’re very much concentrated on Byron kissing you, but that helps; it lets your body do what it needs to in order to regulate itself, and for some reason, doing it like this is helping. Maybe it’s using your mouth to breathe feels more conscious and active, and so your nose allows your conscious thoughts to shut off.

A flare of pain spreads up your side and through your ribs. Your closed eyes squeeze shut, and your fingers grip his hand harder, clinging onto something though the burning. “Mmn…”

He pulls back, hearing your obviously pained noise, and watches your free hand press against your side. Your breathing _has_ slowed, which is good, but he quickly becomes concerned about your wound. He tugs the covers down, then lifts your top up when you pull your own hand away.

The bandage isn’t showing any blood. Relief hits Byron hard enough to knock the air out of him. His heart sinks, though, when he sees the now violent, aggressive bruising up your ribs, painting your side in deep purple and black.

He pulls your top back down, then covers you again, taking your hand once more. You close your eyes, even though you’re still awake, and he rests his forehead against yours again. He murmurs to you quietly, barely audible, but you hold onto each and every word like a lifeline. “We promised each other we would survive. You’re nearly past the hardest bit, ___. You can make it through this. I swear it, after this, I will do everything in my power to ensure that not even a single soul can come anywhere close to hurting you.”

Another moan slips from your lips. He brushes his lips over your cheek, trying to soothe you as much as he can. “We’ll reach the castle soon. More doctors will be able to help you there, and will do everything they can to stop the pain. Just a little bit longer.”

The door opens again, and Xander swings himself inside the carriage smoothly with one arm, then closes the door behind him. He has several vials and bottles in his other arm and hand, and he swiftly drops to his knees next to Byron before setting them down. “I’ve got medicine and herbal remedies for the pain, and herbal stuff to help calm her down.”

He hands Byron one of the bottles, one that’s large and contains white liquid. “That’s a painkiller. Two sips should be enough to ease it for now.”

Byron nods, removing the cap and sliding a hand under your head. He lifts it gently, supporting your neck while he brings the bottle to your lips. You take two sips obediently, eyes shutting tightly and face contorting with discomfort. When he pulls it away and puts the cap back on, you squirm, the sickening taste of the medicine making you want to throw up. Byron presses forward, proceeding to help you take the calming remedies, before he stops, deciding to leave it there unless you desperately need more.

Maybe ten minutes pass of you working your way through the pain, Byron holding your left hand and stroking your hair, while Xander holds your right. They check your side intermittently, making sure it’s not bleeding though again, and eventually your breathing completely settles out. They question whether or not you can feel blood in your throat periodically, and you answer no, since you can’t feel anything and don’t have the urge to cough anymore. The pain lessens slightly after a while, becoming more easily bearable.

Just as the carriage is riding toward the castle, maybe five minutes away, you slip into unconsciousness. Your pulse remains somewhat quicker than normal, but it’s steady, and your breathing is consistent. Byron’s glad, since it means that you won’t be conscious to feel the pain you’re in, at least for a little while.

As soon as the carriage rides across the bridge and into up to the front of the castle, Xander is ready to move. Byron remains by your side, waiting. The carriage stops outside the doors, with four more carriages holding the most severely wounded knights in them behind it. Any other knights will be in the centres set up to treat the wounded by now.

Xander opens the door, retrieving the stretcher from the back of it, where Nico secured it on earlier. He sets it down inside the carriage, and by now Nico and Albert are running over, ready to help. Xander picks you up carefully, then lifts you down onto the stretcher, before taking the end inside the carriage. Nico gets the other end, and they both carry it out of the carriage, moving to the side.

Byron gets outs, looking to Albert immediately. “Go and ensure that all of the bureaucrats are in bed. If any are not, make certain that they go to their rooms and stay there.”

Albert bows, one hand over his heart. “Yes, Your Majesty. At once.”

He all but runs into the castle, the guards having opened the doors already. Other knights are helping to carry the injured out now, they having done the same with more stretchers, but Byron remains with you as he nods toward the towering castle. “Come. She will stay in the chambers next to mine.”

Nico nods, knowing the room he’s talking about, and a cheeky smile tugs at his lips at his king’s words. “The Queen Chambers?”

Byron sends him a sharp look, wary of the other knights overhearing. “Yes. Be mindful of your volume.”

A giggle escapes the knight. “Yes, King Byron.”

Byron goes in now, motioning for Xander to follow. Two of the guards who were patrolling the courtyard now run over, offering their aid. Byron declines it, telling them to keep a close watch on the courtyard instead, and to be expecting reports from the treatment centres where the other knights are.

The corridors are, as Byron expected, empty. Albert would have cleared those on the path to the guest chambers, so they shouldn’t encounter any bureaucrats on the way, even though many have already gone home for the night considering the war having been going on. Byron takes the two through the castle, reaching the Queen’s Chambers at long last. When they get there, he opens the door, motioning to the bed before pulling the covers back.  

“Lie her down. She will be treated in here, and will stay here until she is strong enough to leave.” Nico and Xander rest the stretcher on one side of the bed, and then Xander picks you up once more, allowing Nico to remove the stretcher. Xander lies you down, but keeps the covers down so that he can check your bandage again. Maybe thirty seconds later, Byron’s doctor enters the room, breathing heavily and apparently having run up to the room.

“I wasn’t sure where you were, Your Majesty. Your wounds, are they alright?” He asks breathlessly, carrying several bags and boxes of medical equipment. Byron nods.

“I’m fine. General ___’s condition, however, has been fluctuating considerably. She needs to be stabilised now that she won’t be moved again.” He orders, voice unwavering and full of authority. The doctor nods, setting down his things on the table in between the chairs and couch near the windows.

“Of course. Has she coughed up any more blood?” He peers over at your wound, trying to see the bandage. “Has she bled through the bandages?”

Xander shakes his head now, answering the question. “She hasn’t coughed any blood up, and when we asked, she said she couldn’t feel any in her throat. As far as we can see, she hasn’t bled through.”

The doctor seems relieved at that. He approaches the bed now, feeling your forehead and pulse. “At least she’s sleeping. That will make treatment considerably easier.” He glances around the room and the men in it. “If everyone would step out, I’ll begin treating her.”

Xander looks reluctant, casting you a last, worried look, but he exits the room with a nod. Nico and Albert leave immediately, waiting in the corridor, the latter having arrived silently during the conversation. Byron inclines his head to the doctor, then steps out as well. The doctor shuts the door, leaving your life in his hands and out of theirs.

It’s silent for a moment.

“Your Majesty, you should check your own wounds.” Albert finally breaks it, advising the young monarch. Byron doesn’t want to stray away from the room, but he knows it’ll only cause more problems down the line - which could take him away from you - if he’s negligent toward his own health.

“I will check them in a moment.” He turns to Xander. “Have you been seen to by a doctor?”

Xander shakes his head. “I’ve looked over my injuries and bandaged myself up. I should be fine, thank you.”

Albert frowns slightly, countering, “But you did so on the battlefield, I presume.” Xander nods. “That was not a clean nor safe environment to treat wounds. Being careless with them could lead to them becoming bigger issues, which is inefficient and problematic.”

Nico jumps in now, chirping, “General ___’s in perfectly capable hands, so you don’t need to worry about her for now; the doctor will have her stable in no time. You should take some time out to relax and recover. It’s been a long few days for everyone.”

Xander rubs the back of his head, but it’s clear that he’s shattered; he’s been awake now for about thirty-six hours straight. “I suppose so.”

Byron glances at Nico. “Take him down to the infirmary and have him treated. When he’s done, bring him to the closest guest room to here.”

Nico bobs his head in a nod, beaming. “Yes, King Byron.” He looks to Xander. “If you’ll come with me, Sir Xander.”

Xander returns the smile gently, then walks with Nico down the corridor, disappearing around the corner. Byron sighs quietly, wanting to have a bath but not wanting to leave. Albert watches Byron stare at your chamber’s doors, murmuring, “Your Majesty?”

Byron thinks for a few moments. He recalls what Nico said; you’re in capable hands. You’ll survive and get through this. If he can get himself sorted quickly, he can be ready or whatever happens in regards to your condition at any time.

“I will have a bath while she is being treated. Then, I can be ready for any change in her condition at any time.” He decides, heading toward the royal bathroom. Albert nods, walking beside.

“That would be wise. However, I would suggest that you try to sleep after your bath as well – you have been awake for a long time now, and after intensive, prolonged fighting, you need as much rest as possible.” He reminds Byron.

Said monarch simply nods, having reached the royal bathroom, and Albert starts drawing the bath since the castle wasn’t made aware that everyone was returning. Byron begins to take his clothes off, and Albert assists him, being mindful of his injuries.

“True. I may try to sleep for a little while, but I want to be woken up as soon as anything changes with her.” Now in his trousers and shirtless, Byron glances down at his chest, seeing that the bandage is still white. He inwardly sighs with relief. “I will have to keep the stitches dry for now.”

Albert nods, folding Byron’s shirt and collecting his jacket. He bows low at the waist, responding, “Are you certain you do not need to be seen by a doctor, Your Majesty?” Byron shakes his head. Albert lets out a slightly shaking breath. “As you wish. Would you like me to bring you clothes for bed, since it is still in the early hours and you will not be doing any work for at least a few days?”

Byron tests the water, finding it to be nice and warm but not overly so. “Yes. I will try to sleep when I’m finished with my bath.”

He turns to face Albert once more, studying his advisor’s tired eyes and body language. “Afterward, have yourself checked by the doctors, and then get some rest yourself. I want everyone who fought, regardless of their duties, to take the next few days off. All knights, yourself and Nico included, are to sleep and recover until completed recuperated and ready to return to work. That is an order. Am I completely understood?”

Albert’s cheeks tint ever so slightly with blood, and he nudges his glasses up on his nose, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Your Majesty, we don’t need to-”

“Al.” He sighs out lightly, giving his old friend a gentle smile. “I do not want the conditions of the knights who have fought to protect this country to deteriorate. Doing so and then lessening our security is less efficient and risky. The other knights can cope with maintaining our security until everyone else has fully recovered.”

His tone turns ever so slightly teasing, just enough to be heard even with his cool voice. “Do as you’re told and take care of yourself, and tell the others to do the same. The responsibility of guarding the castle, and completing the work that can be done by others than myself, remains with those who were not involved in the war. If you try to return to your duties without being completely recovered, there will be trouble.”

Albert’s blush deepens marginally, but a hint of a smile tugs at his lips, eyes lighting up with happiness. “If you insist, Your Majesty. May I still remain by your side once I’ve rested and taken care of my injuries?” Byron nods approvingly, and a relieved sigh escapes Albert. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Enjoy your bath.”

“I will. Thank you, Albert.” The knight leaves the bathroom without another word, still smiling and blushing just a bit.

Byron shakes his head at his loyalty, but he simply continues to undress completely, then get in the bath, being mindful that none of his stitches get wet.

The warm air surrounds him, calming him, relaxing his body and mind. He’s not struggling much to file away the horrors of the battlefield, but he hasn’t really had an opportunity for his mind to do whatever it wants. He has yet to sleep, has yet to see if what he saw will stay with him in his dreams.

He tugs his eyepatch off, tossing it behind him on the tiles. Doing so reminds him of that terrifying moment when you took it off him for the first time, and when he thought you would hate him for his resemblance of Gerald. He realises how silly it was now. You would never think differently of him for something so trivial as his appearance. He should know that. He should know that you know _him_ enough not to make such assumptions.

_I miss her._

He’s desperate to have you in his arms again. It’s like he’s addicted to having you close now, and the withdrawal symptoms are kicking in.

_I want to know that she’s alright._

His heart is aching, something in his chest crying out for you and begging for him to go to you. He wants to, desperately, but he knows he can’t. He has to be patient and wait for the doctor to finish. Interrupting would only cause more grief for the latter and for you yourself, so he needs to rein in his desires. If he waits, you’ll recover and stabilise quicker. Then, you’ll be strong enough that he’ll be able to take you into his arms without being afraid that he’ll break you.

He drops his head against the tile, staring up at the ceiling.

_I never knew loving someone could hurt like this._

He spends a bit longer in the bath, washing everywhere except for his wounds, before getting out and drying off. The whole time, he’s waiting for news on you, waiting for some indication that something’s gone wrong or that you’re deteriorating again, but nothing comes. There’s silence all around the castle.

_Some say that silence is a good thing. If you’re being told that’s something’s changed, that’s when you should be worried._

When he’s in his night clothes, he returns to his room, collapsing back onto his bed. He listens for sound from your room, eyeing the connected single door which allows him to get to you immediately if you need him.

_It would be so easy to just go in and check on her…_

He mentally scolds himself.

_Not yet._

Sighing lightly, he stands up once more, now feeling his exhaustion more than ever. His limbs are heavy, his pain is still there, and his mind is growing sluggish. He needs to sleep. He closes the curtains, except for those of the window he looks out of while he’s in bed, before dousing all the candles. He gets in bed, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach, and the aching need to have you in his arms.

_This is torture._

He gazes up at the stars, wondering if he’ll be able to sleep. He swallows thickly, then lets out a slow breath, readying himself for any nightmares that might visit him.

He takes his eyepatch off at long last, setting it down on the bedside table. Then, he closes his eyes.

For a long, long time, he can’t sleep. But then, just before the sun emerges from behind the horizon, he manages to slip into the dark, exhaustion taking over and forcing him into unconsciousness.

And, thankfully, he sleeps so deeply, he sees nothing in his dreams. All he sees is the dark. 


	15. Part XV | Waking.

**†** **♛** **†**

Byron sleeps for a long, long time, in deep, dreamless slumber.

When he finally wakes up, the first thing he registers is that he feels weak. When he opens his eyes, he sees that it’s dark outside, and he wonders how long he’s slept for. His muscles are absolutely aching now, sore and stiff, and his chest is burning worse than yesterday. When he glances down at his bare chest, he sees a small spot of red in his bandage, but it’s dark. So, it bled a little in the night, but that was it. He nods to himself.

He sits up slowly, feeling his head spin just a bit. He surveys the bedroom, and immediately goes still.

Albert and Nico are in the room, sleeping on the armchair and couch respectively, seemingly fast asleep. They mustn’t have wanted to leave him alone when he’s hurt, and must have unanimously agreed to remain in his room.

He finds himself smiling, eyes softening.

_I’m lucky to have them by my side._

Byron stands up slowly, cautiously, testing his body. It’s not too bad overall, but he definitely needs food. He feels well-rested, and assumes that he’s slept for a long time.

And if he hasn’t been woken up by someone, telling him that you’ve deteriorated or even died, you must be alive.

He walks over to Albert quietly, thinking that he’ll hurt his back by sleeping in the chair upright. Leaning down, he uses his left arm, his injury being on the right side of his chest, to pull Albert up by his back. He then puts his advisor’s arm over his shoulder. Albert stirs slightly, still limp, but doesn’t wake up. Byron ignores the crying of his muscles, all but dragging Albert to the bed, then lying him down in it. Once he’s settled, still fast asleep and most likely exhausted, he does the same with Nico. It’s easier with him, granted, because he’s smaller and more petite than Albert.

He recalls how they used to sleep in his bed with him sometimes, if something bad had happened, or Byron was sick, or if either of them were scared of something. He finds himself thinking that he still doesn’t mind it, still sees them both as his brothers, even though Nico is only half related and Albert shares no blood with him. Letting them sleep in his bed seems normal to him, somehow.

He moves around the room carefully as he dresses in his more casual clothes, retrieving his eyepatch from the bedside table and putting it on. He slips Albert’s glasses off and sets them on the bedside table instead, smiles at the sight of his closest friends once more, then makes his way to the door to your room.

He knocks very lightly, waiting for a response. There’s nothing. Trying to push back the twinge of unease in his chest, he knocks again, louder. There’s no response.

He opens the door slowly, meeting no resistance or reaction, before stepping inside and closing it behind him.

The first thing he observes is the doctor, sat in a chair by the side of the bed, head resting on his knuckles. He’s asleep, it seems, although from the way he’s sitting, he’s probably only been asleep for a short while. The second thing is the strong smell of disinfectant in the room, which immediately makes him assume that your wounds have been redressed. The third thing is you.

You’re on your back in the bed, completely still, the covers pulled up to your neck. Your breathing is slower than earlier, which makes Byron’s worry dissipate almost instantly. The curtains are still open, and the moonlight shines in, very dimly lighting your prone form.

_She’s alright._

Something in him swells with relief and love. Before he can even think to stop himself, he’s moving forward, approaching the bed as quietly as he can. He doesn’t dare to sit down, thinking that he’ll wake you up.

But then your lips move, words forming that are almost inaudible, spoken weakly and softly. “Byron, is that you?”

He freezes where he stands.

_Is she awake? Is she talking in her sleep?_

He tries to calm his now racing heart, amazed by how just hearing your voice sends waves of warmth and joy through him. He replies quietly, voice hushed and low. “Yes.”

He can see your eyes moving behind your eyelids. You can’t find the energy to open them. You whisper again, wondering if his voice is real or not. “Am I dreaming?”

_She’s awake._

“No.” He steps up to be next to the bed, and immediately, his familiar scent enters your senses. Relief and elation explodes in your chest, and you let out a ragged breath, wanting to see or at least feel him.

“Sorry; I can’t open my eyes. I’m so tired.” You whisper out, head falling to the side, in his direction. He nods, glancing up at the doctor. He’s still asleep, it seems. Deciding that, if he works it out, Byron can just tell him to keep it a secret, he perches next to you on the bed. He reaches down, letting his fingers brush across your cheek.

It’s almost euphoric for both of you. To feel that you’re together again, and that you’re both alive, it’s indescribable.

“Byron.” You utter his name ever so softly, needing him closer, needing to feel him there. Hearing you say it is like heaven for him, and he lets out a long sigh, leaning down. He rests his forearm next to your head, his hand remaining on your cheek, cradling it in his palm. He finds your own hand under the cover with his free one, twining his fingers through yours. You try to hold on, but you’re so weak, you can barely apply any pressure. “Byron.”

“___.” He breathes out your name like a prayer, his lips hovering over your forehead. He presses the most tender of kisses to it, then plants more, fluttering butterfly kisses down the left side of your face. Your own lips skim over his cheek, eyelashes tickling his skin. A shudder runs through him, emotions of relief and love, of joy and happiness, so strong that it’s almost overwhelming again. He kisses your forehead again, murmuring, “My ___.”

His voice drops even further, barely existent. “My queen.”

Something deep inside you coils at those words, clenching and twisting, but it’s a pleasant sensation. It’s like a new, strange form of excitement, but also of appreciation and a feeling or worth. You squeeze his hand as much as you can, almost able to completely forget the pain you’re constantly in.

He speaks again, never once moving an inch away from you, keeping your cheek in his palm and your hand in his other. “How bad is the pain? Can you breathe properly? Do you need me to wake the doctor up?”

You immediately shake your head as much as you can, which is only slightly, fingers tightening around his just a little. “It’s bad, but it’s better than yesterday. I think he gave me more medicine earlier; the pain is bearable and I can breathe almost normally.”

He nods, trusting you to tell him the truth. “If you need him, he’s here. He’s sleeping.”

Simply desperate for his touch, and not having the effort to restrain yourself, you mumble into his ear, “I just… I just want you here with me.” If you had enough blood, you’d be blushing at the blunt words, but your mind quickly becomes more serious again. “How are your injuries? Are you in pain?”

He shakes his head, lightly squeezing your fingers. “I’m fine. The pain is minimal, and my wounds aren’t particularly serious.”

You’re still trying desperately to open your eyes. You just want to see him, to see that he’s there in front of you. “Your chest was injured. Was it deep?”

He has to smile at your persistence. “No. The doctor stitched it, but it wasn’t life-threatening or anywhere close. It’s just a gash.”

_I want to see it for myself._

The thought of him playing off a wound urges your body to summon the energy. Your eyelids finally rise.

The tension in your body disappears.

_He’s alive._

You gaze up at his profile, dimly lit by the moonlight, noticing the light bruising on his jaw. Your eyes lower to his chest, peering at the area that you saw was bleeding during the battle. Pursing your lips, you try to move your hand from his to have a look yourself. Not wanting you to be worrying about anything, no less himself, he tightens his grip, preventing you from moving it at all. You frown. “Let me see it.”

He narrows his eye, shaking his head. “It’s fine, ___. You can’t be worrying over anything right now, not with the state your body is in.”

The frown deepens. You’re not having any of this; you’ve already come to close to losing him, so you’re not taking any chances. “If you don’t let me see it, I’ll still keep trying, and I’ll just worry more until I can be certain it’s okay.”

_How unfair, using her condition against me._

Despite that, he finds a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re a cruel woman.” You simply nod, but there’s a familiar twinkle in your eyes. He lets out a soft sigh, removing his hand from your face to nudge his jacket to the side, then unbutton his shirt. He tugs it out of the way, exposing the bandage around his chest, and the small spot of red in the thickest part. You stiffen again instantly.

“Byron, it shouldn’t have bled through at all. You need to have it looked at again. It could be bleeding slowly.” You chide him, voice dripping with concern. He gives you a tiny, wry smile, buttoning his short up again, before he leans down once more. He rests his forehead against your own, murmuring lowly,

“I’ll be honest with you; at the moment, I could care less about minimal bleeding from a wound that’s already been stitched. I’m far more concerned about you.” You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed by how almost childish he’s being.

So, you turn your head to the side, eyes honing in on the doctor. “Doctor.” You say, as loudly as you can, which still isn’t very loud. It’s enough to wake him, though, and you send Byron a swift look. “Put my hand down before he sees.” You mutter.

He loves you, but right now, he could kill you himself.

He puts your hand down and stands just as the doctor’s head comes up, eyes opening groggily. When he sees you awake and Byron stood next to the bed, he jerks upright, then rises up rapidly. “Y-Your Majesty! Are you alright? Is something wrong?”

You speak before Byron can, answering bluntly, “There’s a blood spot on the bandage over his chest wound. Sorry for waking you, but it should be checked again in case it’s bleeding.”

The doctor’s pupils widen, and then he nods fiercely. “If it’s bled through the bandage, it most definitely needs checking. Your Majesty, let us go to your chambers, and I will treat it again.”

Byron sends you a sharp look. You give it right back, not in any way, shape or form remorseful. He sighs in aggravation. “Quickly, then. It’s hardly important.”

You bite back a retort, watching as the doctor goes through the door in the side of the room. A thought occurs to you.

_He said he was going to his chambers. But, there are already two doors, and the room next to his that I saw last time had two doors…_

You briefly spot a familiar bed in the next room when the door opens. Your heartbeat picks up.

_I’m… in the room connected to his. These are the chambers that the Queen of Stein is supposed to use. Stefan had one for his queen when she was alive._

That strange flutter comes back again inside you. You have to admit, it’s a nice feeling.

Byron spends about ten minutes next door, and you wait in silence while he does. Then he returns, the doctor no longer with him, before shutting the door and coming over to the bed again. “Is the wound alright?” You ask.

He nods, sitting next to you once more. He raises an eyebrow. “While I’m somewhat undecided on my feelings about my doctor taking your orders over my own wishes, your stubbornness is appreciated. One of the stitches had come undone slightly while I slept.”

You almost, almost smirk. If you weren’t in such pain, you would. Instead, you raise an eyebrow. “Told you so.”

He fights back the urge to roll his eyes, but somehow, the way you’re being so childish is entertaining. It’s cute, in a way, and it’s rather endearing how worried you are over one wound. “You sound like a child.”

You have to smile at that. You can’t help it. “I never said I was mature. I can be a complete infant when I want to.”

He takes your hand again, returning to his position from before, cradling your cheek in his other hand and dropping his forehead against your own. Your gaze softens. “But I only did it because it could have been serious. When you’re able to walk out of a war, you don’t take risks with any injuries. I learnt that first-hand a long time ago, and you can take even less mistakes because you’re the king. You owe it to your people to take care of yourself.”

You have a point. He nods slowly, deciding to surrender on this one. “That’s a fair point. You need to do the same, though, because you have just as much of a duty to your people. They need you, so you must prioritise your health above all. You will not be able to return to Vinessia for at least a week or two with the extent of your injuries, and even then, that’s an optimistic estimate. You’ll likely need to stay here for three weeks before you’re strong enough and your wound has healed enough to safely make the trip.”

You expected that, although you’d hoped against it. As much as you want to stay with Byron, your people will want you back home, to represent them and give them the security in having you back again. “I’ll have Xander or Tobias return and take my place until then. At least that way, the people will have someone they trust overseeing everything.”

He nods in agreement. “That would be wise.”

It’s quiet for a few moments. Then, Byron recalls something, and realises something else. His heartbeat speeds up, bursting with love. He squeezes your hand gently, then stands up once more, briefly returning to his room to retrieve the throwing knives he gave you, then both of your whistles.

He comes back into the room, then searches through the medical supplies until he finds some cleaning alcohol, a cloth, and a bowl of clean water that must have been brought in by a maid or the doctor while you were being treated.

He sets them on the bedside table. You watch, confused, as he picks up your whistle, then puts a few drops of alcohol on the cloth before he starts to wipe at it. Your confused voice reaches his ears while he stares down at it, watching the blood come off. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning the blood from it. I believe I can now make my promise.” He answers, tone kind, eye focused on the whistle. Your stomach clenches, the sensation pleasant again, at the thought.

You nod in understanding, remaining silent as he wipes at every crevice of the whistle, then the ring. Once he’s satisfied that there isn’t any blood left, he presses lightly on the tiny clasp holding the ring in place, pulling it down and releasing it. He slides it down and off delicately, letting the clasp slide back into the whistle, now barely noticeable.

He cleans the whistle again, wiping where the ring was, before doing the same with the ring itself and the inside of it. He doesn’t leave a single millimetre untouched, gaze attentive and sharp as he works. It’s fascinating, seeing him so concentrated on one thing, observing the complete attention to what he’s doing.

Finally, the ring and the whistle are spotless. He nods to himself, satisfied, before he raises his eye to meet yours. “May I give it to you now?”

You don’t hesitate in nodding, heart beating hard and fast, elation surging through you. “Yes.”

He smiles gently, expression kind and beatific. “Before I make any promises, I want to know what you want. I want to give you the life you desire, whatever it is. So, what is it that you would like?”

You already know your answer. You don’t even have to think about it. Your words come naturally, softly, surely.

“I want to be with you, Byron. I want to be yours, and want you to be mine, if that’s what you want as well. It doesn’t matter to me how it ends up working, if it has to remain a secret or not, or if it becomes public. I want to be able to love you, and to be able to love my country as well. For as long as the people of Vinessia want me to be their leader, that’s what I want to be.”

A real, strong smile graces your lips for the first time in days. “And I want you to want that too. That’s the most important thing to me.”

His chest tightens, swelling again with love and adoration.

_She’s so beautiful, in every single way. She’s too wonderful for a world like this._

He takes your right hand, raising it to his lips, before he presses a deep kiss to your knuckles. He lowers it, speaking clearly and with certainty, just like you.

“I want that as well. I want to be with you, to be yours and for you to be mine. I will make it work, however you want. If you wish not to become the Queen of Stein as well as the leader of Vinessia, that is how I will make it work. If you do wish to become the queen, I will make it happen. If you wish for it to be a secret, it will be that way. I will ensure that you can have Vinessia, and that you can have me.”

He raises the ring to his mouth now, kissing it delicately, lightly, before he declares, “This is my promise to you. I promise to make these things happen, and to make you happy for as long as I live. I promise this as the King of Stein, but also as the man Byron Wagner. I swear it on my name, honour and life.”

You can barely breathe, but it’s not from your wounds. It’s from joy. It’s from the realisation that you can be happy now, and can have the life you’ve never had.

You nod, throat thick with oncoming tears when you speak. “And I swear that I will do the same, to make you happy as well. I want us both to have the life we want. I want us to make decisions together, to give us a future we both want to live.”

He nods back, giving you a rare, breathtakingly beautiful grin. “Then that is what we will do. Let us decide together the world we will live in and the future we will build for ourselves.” He lifts the ring up, asking, still grinning, “Is there any finger you’d prefer?”

The thought from that night whirs through your head again.

_So would it be so horrible to become a royal?_

You take a moment to mull it over. You always said you’d never associate with royalty any more than absolutely necessary, and you’ve completely gone back on your word. You’re in love with a royal. You said you’d never be kind to a royal. You’ve been kind to the rulers of Laurelia, Wysteria and Lindera, and even to some extent the Queen of Carallia. You said you’d never become a royal.

But what would it be like, being with Byron without becoming his queen? The nobility will cause uproar over it. You could fix it and hopefully resolve the problem with time and negotiation, but you don’t think they'd ever truly be content with another ruler being the partner of their king, without planning to join together in a marriage alliance.

It would cause more friction, of course, if you were to become the Queen of Stein as a result of marrying Byron, even though the thought of marriage still doesn’t sit right with you; you’ve abolished the monarchy in Vinessia.

Your people, as far as you know, don’t want another monarchy. They just want a leader who loves them and will take care of them, will protect and nurture them to make the prosper. You’ve always said you’d do that, always said you’d lead them, but never rule them.

_What should I do?_

Your heart is torn. You want to do what’s best for both yourself and for Byron, and by extension what’s best for Vinessia and Stein. You can’t do it all. It’s impossible.

Byron's watches you closely, seeing you go off into a deep train of thought. Your eyes are on the ring, but your gaze is far, far away, somewhere he can’t see and can’t understand. “___.” You break out of your thoughts, hues rising up to meet him. “What is it?”

You bite your tongue lightly, considering, trying to think of how to word this right. “I… I don’t know what to do.”

He narrows his eye, reaching out with his empty hand to brush your hair behind your ear tenderly. “About what?”

You lean your face into his hand, revelling in the warmth pouring from him. “What the right choice would be to make. I don’t know what the best choice is for us, and so for Vinessia and Stein and our people.”

He nods, indicating for you to elaborate. You breathe out slowly, going through your thoughts. “On the one hand, we can just keep this a secret, or at least try to for as long as possible. There’s no guarantee that it’ll work, since people are already making assumptions, and I know of the rumours going around. People aren’t stupid; some of them are no doubt certain of it by now.”

Byron curses at himself inwardly. He tried to keep the rumours from you to protect you and stop you from becoming more stressed, but evidently it was a mistake to. He should have known you’d find out soon enough. “I apologise. I was aware of the rumours, but I deliberately avoided telling you to spare you the stress. It was an unneeded issue in a situation already full of problems.”

You nod. That’s what you’d thought his reasoning was. “I thought that might be it. Alfred – the King of Laurelia – told me about them just before the battle, and told me that he knows. He mentioned how he made you tell him about us.”

Byron nods in return, eye narrowing again. “I avoided telling him as much as possible, but he was already certain. He knew, so there was little point in denying it further, especially when he made it blatantly clear that he swore on his life to silence and offered only help to us.”

You sigh softly. “I understand. He was adamant about it with me as well; it was obvious that he was completely sure even before he told me so.” You close your eyes for a moment, going back to your point. “So, we can do our best to keep it a secret. We remain as we are, officially.”

Byron picks up now, seeing where you’re going with this. “Or, we can make it public.” Your head drifts up and down, face nuzzling into his palm. He runs his fingers through your hair, then cups your cheek again. “And in doing so, will be faced with issues immediately.”

Your eyes open, meeting his stare. “As soon as it becomes public, the nobility raise hell. They’ll be trying to make it impossible however they can; they won’t accept another leader being with their king, when they’re a foreign commoner who started a civil war in their own country, then toppled their own government. I’m immediately a threat. They’d always refer back to the possibility that, because I took Stefan down successfully, I might try to do the same here.”

You only realise now, properly, that you’re in Stein. You blink. “By the way, why am I here?”

Byron smiles slightly. “You weren’t stable enough to be moved to Vinessia with your injuries; we couldn’t risk the trip. So, we just brought you straight here and decided that you’d stay until you’re strong enough to go home.”

You nod in understanding. “I understand. Thank you.” You’re struck by the thought that his injury might be hurting more because he’s sitting up, and you tilt your head. “Is your chest alright, since you’re sitting up? You shouldn’t strain it too much, or the muscles around it.”

He has to admit; it’s hurting quite a bit. It’s bearable, but not the most comfortable of things. “You’re welcome. It’s… sore, to say the least.” His eye twinkles mischievously, a tiny smirk tugging at his mouth. “Is that an invitation to lie with you?”

Your pulse thunders, mind reeling with embarrassment as well as excitement. You divert your eyes, mumbling despite the nerves and your still shy nature when it comes to romance, “If it’ll help, I don’t mind.”

He chuckles lowly, seeing your shyness. Still, he shifts around be lying atop the blankets, dropping onto his back next to you. The ring still held in his left hand, he hooks his left arm around and above your head, letting his fingers sift through your hair. You lean in closer to him, wanting the proximity, wanting him to hold you but unable to move because of your side.

He sees this and moves closer again. You lift your head, allowing him to move it, the let you rest it atop his bicep. You can feel the warmth from him against your body, the cover the only thing separating you; if he was under it, you’d be pressed up against him. It immediately gives you a sense of reassurance and security, and you rest your head on his shoulder, breathing in deeply. You can smell disinfectant for the most part, but his clothes still smell like him, and it calms you completely.

“Back to your point, though,” He murmurs into your hair, burying his nose in it and closing his eye. “The nobility will cause trouble. You’re right about how they will view the situation, and you are correct in that they will be extremely difficult to reason with. I suspect it would simply take time, patience and hard work from both of us, to prove that you aren’t a threat to Stein.”

You hum in agreement into his shoulder. He tucks your hair behind your ear again, kissing the top of your head gently. “And they will demand unreasonable things from you as a result.”

You make a sound of displeasure. “Even though some of the things aren’t exactly unreasonable.”

He pauses at that, his hand stilling in your hair. “Like what?”

You sigh heavily, muttering, “They’d expect me to start acting like a ‘proper woman’, no doubt. Wearing dresses, getting married for definite, having children and giving up my job. The standard stuff for a girl. It’s socially reasonable things, of course. And then there’s other things-”

Something close to anger flushes through him. He lowers his head, tipping your own up, and kisses you.

You let out a muffled squeak of surprise, taken aback by the sudden, unexpected contact. Before you can even react, he moves away slightly, muttering lowly, but so intensely that it makes your stomach do flips,

“You do not have to do that. It is completely irrelevant how socially expected it is for a woman to wear dresses, bear children and remain at home. Personally, I think such expectations are ridiculous and I don’t agree with them at all. That is not something I will ever allow you to do unless it is by free will and choice. If you don’t want to wear dresses and have children, nor get married or give up your position, you will not. Believe in me and trust me when I say that. I will not, under any circumstance, allow them to force you into it.”

You’re stunned into silence. You can’t think of a single thing to say.

_He’s always so ready to protect me. He understands that it’s not what I want. He’s willing to challenge his nobility for the sake of my happiness._

Tears start to form in your eyes, and you nod, relief flooding through you. “Thank you, Byron. Thank you so much.”

He smiles very softly, watching a tear fall down your cheek, followed by another. He brushes away the dampness from your skin, murmuring, voice tender and genuine, “You need not thank me, ___.” He kisses your forehead, breathing out, “You are the most important person in the world to me. You are the woman I love. I will always do everything in my power to make you happy and protect you from harm, be it physical, emotional or mental.”

He meets your gaze, whispering, “I love you, more than my own life, and more than anyone else. I love you just as much as I love my country. I want you to remember that.”

More tears spill over. You let out a shaking breath, trying to calm yourself. Your emotions are all over the place. “And I love you, Byron. There’s no one else I love as much as I love you, and I love you just as much as I love Vinessia. I’ll remember if you remember that.”

His head drifts up and down in a slow nod, heart thumping away in his chest. “I will.” His gaze becomes more serious, thoughts turning sombre. “For now, though, don’t think about what we will choose to do. You need to rest and relax, to recover from everything that’s happened. I don’t want you adding any more stress by trying to confront a problem we have yet to be faced with.”

While you don’t like leaving issues unresolved, you don’t exactly have the energy to think more about it, and you know there’s no point in trying now. You nod back, leaning up as much as you can to rest your forehead against his and close your eyes. He smiles softly at this, understanding that you want contact and want to be close to him. It’s a relief; all he wants to do is hold you and keep you in his arms.

So, he turns to be more on his side, since you can’t yourself. Being cautious of your injuries, he lowers the arm under your head to be under your waist instead, curling around your middle, hand coming to rest on your hip. The other returns to your face, stroking your cheek, before doing the same with your hair. He notices that the ring is still in his other hand, and he mumbles into your skin, “Have you thought about the ring yet?”

You don’t want to choose. You’d rather he did it. “I don’t mind where it goes. You pick.”

He stills for a second, confused, before he continues to stroke your hair. “It’s you who’s going to be wearing it. Why don’t you want to pick?”

You don’t open your eyes, instead responding softly, quietly, “I’m not sure. It’s sort of… hard to choose. I don’t really know why.”

He finds himself smiling again, somehow amused by but also adoring of your indecisiveness. “If you can’t decide, would you like me to choose which finger, if you choose the hand?”

That makes it a bit easier. The left hand typically has a lot of social connotations around it. “My right hand.”

His chest tightens, but there’s a pleasant sensation as well. He feels… happy. He nods. “Then, I would choose your third finger. Is that alright?”

Your skin heats slightly, eyes opening; you can’t quite shake the thought of the ring finger being associated with marriage, and once again you’re struck by the thought of possibly becoming queen. You feel a mix of emotions as a result, but you nod all the same, still not exactly opposed to the prospect even though you’re torn on it. “Yes.”

He takes your right hand, lifting it up with his right one. With his left, he slides the ring onto your ring finger, letting it settle there. It was made with your middle and ring finger in mind, since he thought you’d be most likely to wear it on those, and he internally sighs with relief when he sees that it fits. Warmth spreads through him, and he leans down, kissing the joint of your finger tenderly. “Thank you.”

Your heart beats a bit harder, but you manage to get out your response, feeling an odd tingling in your limbs at the sight of his lips against your finger. You absently wonder if it’s that, or blood loss. “Thank you, Byron.”

He laces his fingers through yours, content and relieved to have you close and in his arms. Before he can speak, though, there’s a knock at the doors to the corridor. Your eyes fly up to him. He lets go of you reluctantly, dragging himself to his feet and standing, before he calls, “Enter.”

The doctor comes in, nudging the door open with his elbow, carrying what you can see is a tray of food and drink. He bows his head upon entering, greeting, “Your Majesty, General ___.” He looks to Byron, smiling kindly. “I have the food you requested.”

Byron nods. When he was being checked over, he instructed the doctor to see if he could get both of you something to eat despite the time, and the doctor agreed, saying that it was important that he gets you something you can eat in your condition. “Thank you.” He looks to you. “If General ___ wouldn’t mind, I would eat in here with her. We still have things to discuss.”

You understand. That’s code for:

_“This is our excuse for staying together. We still have official business to take care of, as far as they’re concerned.”_

You nod. “Of course.”

The doctor inclines his head again, then brings the tray over to Byron. The latter motions for him to set it on the bed beside you, declining the offer for any more elaborate trays or things to put it on. The doctor checks your condition and wound briefly, then Byron’s, before leaving, satisfied.

When he’s gone, Byron raises an eyebrow at you, a smile tugging at his lips. “Are you hungry?”

Your shoulders lift and drop slightly in a tiny shrug. You’re not particularly hungry, since your body is still in recovery mode and your stomach is a little bit sensitive. “Sort of. I’m not feeling hungry, but I think that’s because of my injuries more than anything. I probably need to eat, though.”

He nods, understanding; of course your body won’t be focusing on hunger while it’s trying to repair itself from an almost-fatal wound. “Alright. You can try to eat a little bit, since it is important that you’re keeping yourself nourished in order for you to recover.”

He studies the food on the tray. On one side is food for Byron, and the other is for you; yours is soup and tea, while his is scrambled eggs. Both of you have tea.

He decides to make sure you won’t choke by eating lying down, offering, “You should sit up while you eat. Allow me; you shouldn’t strain your wound.”

You’re not sure how to feel about this. On one hand, you don’t like the feeling of being helpless and relying on someone else. On the other hand, though… you’re sort of enjoying being coddled, and are finding his insistence on helping to be admirable, as well as endearing and unbelievably kind.

“Are you sure?” He nods, no hesitation at all. You return it with a meek smile. “Yes, please. Thank you, Byron.”

He shakes his head, setting the tray on the bedside table. He places one knee on the bed, sliding an arm under your back, before he moves some of the pillows to be more against the headboard and upright. Then, he cautiously, slowly strengthens his grip on you, shifting you to be sat more upright. You hold onto his neck to support yourself, monitoring the gradual tightening of the area where your stitches are. It’s uncomfortable, but not additionally painful, and you manage to eventually sit back against the pillows straight.

Once you’re comfortable, you give him a smile, nodding. “Thank you.”

He returns the nod, finding himself smiling back without thinking. “You’re welcome.” His eye gains a teasing twinkle, mischief running through him. “Shall I feed you as well?”

He almost laughs at the blood that floods to your cheeks immediately, despite your body not quite being in the state. You duck your head, turning away, somehow embarrassed by the idea. “No, thank you. You need to eat.”

He can’t hold back a chuckle, but he relents nonetheless. You both start to eat slowly, letting your bodies readjust after not eating for so long and spending so much energy. The soup is tomato, you realise, and oddly sweet all things considered. It’s nice, though; it reminds you pleasantly of occasions in winter when you’ve been able to have soup while hiding in Xander and Tobias’ house, sitting by the fire and watching the flames dance.

Soon, you finish the soup, and Byron has finished the scrambled egg. Be it because he was hungry or more relaxed than usual, it tastes amazing, and he makes a mental note to thank whoever made it. There’s a comfortable, natural silence as you both drink your tea, the situation seeming somehow normal despite the circumstances.

Then, when you’re both done, you yawn quietly and glance out of the window. “Do you know what time it is?”

He looks out as well, gazing up at the sky, now dark once more. “Yes. When I went with the doctor to be treated, he checked his pocket watch and it was ten o’clock at night. He told me that we both slept right through early yesterday morning, then through the day, and the evening as well. I fell asleep at dawn, so I was asleep for roughly sixteen hours or slightly less.”

You blink. You hadn’t realised you’d slept that long, and are somewhat taken aback by it, seeing as you’re still tired. “I see.” You remember the doctor starting to treat you upon arriving at the castle, having woken up briefly, but then you passed out again and only woke up just before Byron came in. “So, we arrived in the early hours of last night?” He nods. “I must have slept for about eighteen hours, then. Amazing.”

He smiles once more, reaching out to brush your hair away from your face, then cup your cheek tenderly. “You need it, every last minute.” His expression becoming harder, his voice drops, now serious, deep and low. “You almost died, ___. You were far, far too close to death on several occasions. If you feel like you should sleep, that is what you must do.”

A pang of guilt churns in your stomach. You lean into his palm, remembering that you just ran off without saying goodbye, desperate to get Alexander away from everyone. Your hand comes up, you having sufficient energy to do so, to rest atop his.

“I’m sorry. I knew Alexander.” Byron raises an eyebrow, a look of mild confusion crossing his features. You close your eyes. “The man who was killing so many knights, the one I ran from after I told you to tell my knights that I was dead. I knew him. He’s Vinessian; he used to work in the castle as Stefan’s bodyguard.”

Byron goes still, breaths stopping for a brief moment. That man- no, that _monster_ , was one of the brutes who helped to keep you trapped under Stefan’s tyranny?

When he remains silent, you carry on, murmuring, “He used to punish me when I did things wrong, and if you couldn’t tell, tried to have his way with me several times but never succeeded. He attempted to kill me once, but I got to Stefan before he could; I tried to fight him, but I knew straight away that I would never be able to kill him. He was too strong, too mutated and modified for me to stand a chance. Stefan punished him severely, and he truly hated me from them on.”

Your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze with an equally deep one. “That’s why I diverted him from the battlefield. He would have just kept on slaughtering knights if he stayed. They might have eventually overwhelmed him, but he would have killed too many by that point. I knew of his strength and didn’t want to give him the chance.”

Byron sees your stare darken, something unnerving and painful lurking inside. Your next words are almost empty, spoken only with hatred and disgust. It almost, almost makes him nervous, seeing you so deadly serious and unforgiving. “He was after me. His vendetta against my life was most likely what brought him to the battle. It was my responsibility to deal with him.”

_So that’s why she left so quickly, so impulsively._

Although he still hates that you did it, and still would have preferred for you to have stayed with him, he can empathise with your reasoning. Alexander truly was monstrous, and no doubt would have caused much more suffering and death before he was brought down.

He sighs softly, leaning down to you. Your eyes close instinctively, but he simply presses a very gentle, very tender kiss to your forehead, breathing out, “Although I wish you would have stayed, and not run head-first into extreme danger, I can understand why you did it. I’m grateful, regardless, for what you did for everyone. You no doubt saved many lives by removing him from the area.”

He sighs now, his breath tickling your flesh. You shiver involuntarily, raising your head slightly, trying to get closer to him. Feeling this, he runs his hand over your hair until it rests on the back of your head, supporting it. His lips press against your skin, firmer, but not too hard. “That still doesn’t mean, however, that I’m not displeased about you taking such a risk.”

For some reason, you don’t mind. You almost like that he’s scolding you for doing something so rash, because he’s _right_. You were hell-bent on doing everything humanly possible, even dying, just to give the others time and distract Alexander.

It _was_ reckless and stupid. It _was_ , in a sense, completely thoughtless.

“Sorry. I just wanted to keep him away from everyone and did the most effective thing. I didn’t really have time to make something more complex up.”

He makes a sound of acknowledgement, running his mouth over your eyebrow, then across your temple, before he kisses it lightly. He’s missed you so much, missed having you close and having the opportunity to kiss you, that now it’s impossible to resist. He almost can’t help himself, simply letting his body take over, as he plants fluttering little butterfly kisses down your nose and back up to your forehead.

The touches send vibrations running through you despite your condition, heartbeat picking up, and you let out a quiet breath before you lean into him more. You hadn’t realised how desperate you are for him to be there and how much you’ve wanted him with you, but now, you never want to let him go again. You want to spend eternity in his arms, happy and relaxed, no longer stressed and with responsibilities weighing down on your shoulders.

Eyes still closed, your right hand seeks out his left, resting on the cover beside your hip. When it brushes over it, he turns his hand over, allowing you to grip onto his fingers. He shifts forward to be sat right next to you, hip against yours. He kisses your temple again, then presses his fingers into your scalp gently, massaging, rubbing lovingly. Your other hand comes up, holding onto his jacket. He laces his fingers through yours with his left hand, finding your ring and smoothing his little finger over it.

“My queen.” He whispers, voice throaty and deep, rich with love and raw emotion, not held back in any way. Your heart skips a few beats, thumping inside you wildly.

“Byron.” You utter his name just as softly, and the sound is like heaven to him.

He kisses down your face to your cheek, drawing a quiet sigh from you. He runs his lips to your jaw, where he kisses under it softly, feeling – thankfully – the warmth emanating from your throat. Your left hand grips his arm, needing something to hold onto, your ability to feel your pain virtually non-existent. You’re too focused on his wonderful touch and the way he’s so gentle with you. You can’t think of anything else.

But after a few seconds, you manage to reach up, guiding his lips from your neck and tilting his head up. When he raises it, mildly confused and surprised, you cover his mouth with your own in a deep, ardent kiss.

He stiffens for a very brief second, amazed by the intensity of your action, but he swiftly finds himself enjoying it. He closes his eye, lowering the hand in your hair to your waist. Your left arm curls around his neck, bringing your torso up to him as much as possible with your injury. Sensing this, he carefully lifts you toward him for a second, then lies you back down against the pillows. His lips never leave yours, consuming, claiming, reuniting at long last.

Words stir inside you, begging to be released, further encouraged by finally having him back in your arms. He’s real. He’s here. He’s yours. You gasp them breathlessly into the kiss. “I missed you. I was so worried. Thank you for surviving.”

He barely withdraws, not even opening his eye while he murmurs, “I’ve never truly missed anyone in my life, but it was torturous, not having you by my side. I never, ever want to let you go, nor do I want to experience seeing you so close to death, again.”

He gives you another scorching kiss, heart pounding in his chest. “Thank you for making it through. Thank you for living. From now on, I will not allow anyone to hurt you. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

You know he’s telling the truth. You kiss him again, passionately, chest, lungs and side now aching, but you could care less. You want to be happy. You deserve to be.

When a flash of searing agony burns through your ribs and side, though, you can’t stifle your sharp intake of breath, and can’t stop your face from contorting in anguish. He immediately pulls back, knowing the difference between pleasure and pain, trying to settle his racing heart. You cling onto him, not wanting him to leave you, fingers gripping his and arm coiled around his neck.

He drapes himself over you so you won’t be straining your muscles, speaking lowly. “___, you should rest. You’re still in a vulnerable condition, and you shouldn’t be testing your body. It’s still too injured.”

You can’t make yourself release his hand or neck, instead burying your face in his neck, mumbling in a moment of desperate honesty, “I don’t want you to go.”

His chest tightens, stomach clenching in a way that shouldn’t be pleasant but somehow is. He squeezes your fingers lightly, dropping his own face to rest in the crook of your neck and shoulder. “I am not going to leave. However, you need to lie back and rest, or you could open your wound again.”

Feeling your hand clench into a fist against his shoulder, he lifts your other up, raising it to his lips. He kisses the ring, and although your eyes are closed, you feel it. “I swear to you, if I can help it, I will remain by your side as much as I can. I will need to return to work soon, but I try to make as much time to see you as possible.”

Of course, you feel guilty now. You’re trying to keep him all to yourself because you’re feeling lonely, and aren’t even considering the rest of the nation around you that needs him too. “No, don’t do that. Focus on healing, and then getting back to work when you’re ready. I’m sorry. I just....” You trail off, not able to formulate words to describe what you’re feeling. “I’m just…”

“… the same as me.”

Your eyes open in a snap. He sighs heavily, detaching his fingers from yours to slide his left hand around your back, embracing you properly, intimately. Your hand joins your other one, fingers threading through his hair, keeping his face nestled in your throat. He continues, voice purring and reverberating out from his chest.

“Or I would hope so, anyway. I’ve never felt remotely like this before. I don’t want to leave you at all. I don’t even want to let you out of my arms again, not after everything that’s happened. I can’t fathom such strong emotions, and don’t comprehend the pain it causes me, knowing that I’ll eventually have to return to my duties and you’ll be returning to Vinessia when you’re strong enough.”

You feel almost nauseous, realising that you’ll have to go back and sleep alone. You’d never let Xander and Tobias suffer, not now that you know how they feel about you. Having to help you sleep must be torture to them.

You’ll be left to face the nightmares yourself, again. More sleepless nights. More pain. More tears.

You don’t want to go.

Feeling your eyes becoming moist and throat thickening, you rest your face against his hair, speaking his name like a prayer. “Byron…” You swallow back the tears, whispering, “I love you.”

When you don’t say anything more, his heart aches again, a long, tight squeeze of pain in his chest. He tightens his grip on your waist while avoiding your injuries. “As I love you, ___, more than I have the words to say. We will find a way to make it work. We might have to push forward making a decision about this, but we will make it possible.”

Realising how you might be worried about him leaving because of everything that’s happened to you over the years, he kisses your throat, long and slow and deep, before he whispers back, “I will not abandon you, that I swear on my life and name. I will only leave your side when there is no alternative option, and other than those times, I will only leave you if you order me away. I will always be here to support you. Trust in me and believe me.”

Of course you do. Of course you trust him. You’d put your mind, body, soul and life in his hands without any hesitation. You’d never doubt that now, and you don’t doubt him in any way. You know that both of you will have to separate because you have duties and responsibilities.

You just don’t want it to be that way.

“I trust you, and I believe you. Thank you, Byron. You know I’ll do the same. I’ll never leave you unless there’s no other way, and I’ll do everything to support you. I swear to that, on my name and my life. I want you to trust and believe in me too.”

He nods without hesitation. “Of course. I trust you and believe in you.”

It’s quiet from then on. Nothing more is spoken, but the silence sings a thousand words. He keeps you in his arms for a long time, appreciating you while you appreciate him, keeping him in your arms just as tightly.

A feathery kiss, his forehead resting against yours. It’s all both of you want. Contact. Affection. Emotions you’ve never felt before but are addicted to already.

You fall asleep in his arms, and he kisses your forehead once more, before he goes to find out the aftermath of the war.

But he’s still thinking about you, and you’re dreaming about him.

Both of you, thinking about the love you’ve never had the chance to feel before.


	16. Part XVI | Healing. Choice. White.

**†** **♛** **†**

You spend the next few days drifting in and out of consciousness.

The war was won to Stein and its allies, with Alder’s army in ruins. The Alderans issue a surrender on the third day after the battle, allowing the victorious nations to seize the officials of the government there and hold them in a trial.

Protea’s government, barely holding itself up, with the Prime Minister in custody and the king now confirmed to be dead, are all placed on trial as well, while Wysteria and Stein for the most part take control of the country. Alder’s ally manages to negotiate a peaceful accord of submission with Stein and Laurelia, although it’s not the fairest.

All of the nations suffer losses. Vinessia’s aren’t as heavy as you’d anticipated, but when the bodies are counted and you’re told by Xander, it still feels like a punch slamming straight into your heart.

Byron himself feels sick when he realises the scale of Stein’s casualties, even though they were the third lightest of the allied nations. The number on the parchment seems almost unreal to him, like it’s been fabricated out of thin air.

But when he sees the bodies being brought back into Stein, when he witnesses families weeping for their fallen knights, it becomes very, very clear, and painfully blatant to him, that this is all real.

This is the reality of war.

This is what you didn’t want to go through again.

Now, he understands why.

Byron pops in and out of your room to see you, all the while completing shedloads of paperwork and attending meetings with the bureaucrats in the castle. Tobias rides to and from Vinessia, bringing with him your paperwork each day, and you complete it while you’re resting. Byron visits you whenever he can, making sure you’re alright, before he returns to his duties.

A week and a half goes by like this. You start to get used to the routine. Wake up, eat something, do paperwork, eat, rest or nap, wake up and do more paperwork, spend some time with Byron, eat, finish your paperwork and sleep. Thankfully, the exhaustion from the battle prevents both you and Byron from dreaming, each sleep being deep and long, and so you don’t suffer with nightmares. Yet.

On the twelfth day, you’re strong and healed enough to stand up without any help.

The doctor hovers next to you, ready to catch you should you fall. Although there’s a tightening sensation when you sit yourself up, you’re able to do it with much more ease and confidence than before, and it doesn’t hurt half as much. Tobias and Xander stand a little away from the bed, watching closely, waiting to be needed.

You glance up at the doctor. “Am I alright to get up, then?”

He nods, albeit looking slightly worried. “Yes. Just try not to tense your abdomen, if possible. Use your arms more for now, at least for the next few weeks.”

Your head drifts up and down. “Okay.”

You swing yourself around, legs dangling over the side of the bed. Putting your hands on the mattress on either side of you, you push up slowly, focusing on keeping your muscles loose. The wound throbs slightly more than normal, but not so much that you think it’s being damaged. You exert more force, gradually bringing yourself off the bed and to your feet. Once you’re up, your legs feel slightly numb, but it swiftly fades away.

You’ve been up during the week and a half, of course, but that’s been with help. You had a bath last night, finally able to fully submerge yourself in the water, and it was one of the most heavenly things you’ve ever felt. After a week of only wiping yourself down, it’s nice to feel completely clean and rejuvenated once more.

“How do you feel?” The doctor prompts, watching you carefully. You give him a nod, taking in an experimental breath. There’s a slight tugging sensation in your lower left chest, and the wound tightens marginally, but both feelings disappear once you let it out again.

“Good.” Your voice is sure when you speak, and you send Tobias and Xander reassuring smiles. “I’m fine. It’s healed well.”

The doctor sighs with relief, taking a moment to inspect the wound again, peeking around the bandages. “It hasn’t opened, which is wonderful. You have a rather accelerated healing rate, ___.”

You have to smile at that, but it’s a secret one. He doesn’t know the half of why you’re so used to healing from injuries swiftly. “Thank you.”

He seems satisfied, moving away slightly and rubbing his chin. “You’re welcome. Now, could you try walking for me, to make sure that you can cope with doing it yourself? We don’t want you collapsing the first time you take a step on your own.”

Your head bobs up and down once more. You very cautiously take a step forward, paying attention to the sensations around your wound. Pain flares through it again, but it’s bearable and not something that strikes you as concerning. You take another step, feeling more and more confident by the second. When you encounter no problems, you experimentally walk around the room, granted not as quickly as you’d like, but fast enough.

By the time you’ve circled around both sides of the bed, then lapped around where Tobias and Xander are twice, you’re slightly breathless, one lung less able to get as much air in as before and body straining more than usual to keep itself up. Adhering to the advice of the three men in the room, you take a moment to rest, standing close to the bed but not sitting down. You place your hands on your hips, breathing deeply, settling yourself again.

It’s at this point that there’s a knock at the door, quiet and instantly recognisable to you.

_Byron._

Your stomach flutters pleasantly, heart stuttering just a little. You’ve missed him, even though you only saw him last night.

“General ___, may I come in?” He asks through the door. You call back immediately, wondering how he’s going to react when he sees you standing up.

“Yes, come in.” He opens the door, slipping inside. Albert and Nico are with him and come in as well, but all three pause where they are when they see you stood on your own. Byron is filled with confusion for a second, then fear, followed by concern, before his heart twists with unease.

“Are you alright to be standing already?” He asks, masking his emotions perfectly, outwardly entirely composed and emotionless. You nod.

“Yes. The doctor said that I’m strong enough to, and I’ve just walked around the room a few times. The wound is healing well and coping with it without a problem.” Although he still feels off about you standing without any assistance, he decides to believe you and trust the doctor’s judgement.

“I see. That’s a good indicator, and should, I would think, imply that you are recovering well.” This is met by an approving look from the doctor, who bows lowly before speaking.

“She’s showing incredible signs of swift, impeccably strong healing potential, Your Majesty. I imagine she’ll be ready to leave by the end of the week, at this rate.”

Your expression almost cracks. Byron’s spine stiffens.

_We have mere days left._

Byron tries to settle his quickened heartbeat, narrowing his eye. “And she’ll be able to make it through the ride home?”

The doctor nods again. “Yes, as long as she rides in a carriage.”

He almost frowns. Almost.

Nonetheless, he turns to Albert, giving him a knowing look. The knight produces three envelopes from his inside pocket, handing them over to him. Byron moves his gaze back to you. “We’ve received responses from Wysteria, Laurelia and Carallia, in response to your letters.”

You incline your head, face becoming sombre.

The doctor takes this as his cue to leave, bowing politely and advising you to sit down soon, before he exits the room.

Byron hands over the parchment to you, motioning toward the couch. You head over, carefully lowering yourself down onto the cushions. Xander and Tobias hover, reaching out to assist you, but you gently bat them away, able to do it without them. Bryon sits next to you, relieved that you’re sitting again and not at risk of hurting yourself. You turn to him, murmuring, “Do you mind if Xander and Tobias sit down?”

He shakes his head, realising how unfair it seems to make them stand. “No.” He glances up at Nico and Albert, saying, “Sit down if you’d like. I imagine this might take some time.”

Albert nudges his glasses up, shaking his head. “Thank you, Your Majesty, but I will remain standing.”

Nico grins, bowing shallowly. “Thank you, King Byron!” He then bounces over to one of the armchairs, perching on the end of the cushion. Xander gives Byron an appreciative nod, sitting in the other armchair, opposite Nico’s. Tobias grunts.

“I’ll stay standing up, thanks.” He mumbles.

You wince.

You haven’t spoken to either of them about their feelings for you. They’ve for the most part stayed with you while you’ve been here, but neither have brought it up. Tobias was initially rather off-hand with you and didn’t speak to you for four days straight, but now he seems to be slowly adjusting and returning to normal. He’s more protective of you now, though, for some reason. You don’t know why.

You stare down at the parchment in your hands.

A few days ago, you spoke with Byron regarding your future with him. You both came to the conclusion, although he was more reluctant about it, that it might be wise to expose your past to the other nations entirely. By doing so, it would remove any ambiguity about who you are and help with getting the nobilities of the other nations to trust you more, or at least acknowledge your position of power.

You had Xander return to Vinessia and sort out a public vote on it, which was conducted three days ago, and the results showed a seventy percent rate of agreement supporting the idea.

After some intense negotiation about how it should be done, you decided to travel to each nation and give a statement announcing who you are and offering full alliances with the said countries. You sent out letters to each of the leaders shortly afterward, and now they’ve responded.

The first is Wysteria. You open the envelope delicately, pulling out the thick parchment.

 

_“General ___,_

_After consulting with our nobility and among ourselves, we have come to an agreement in that we think it would be beneficial for you to make your history public. We fully support your decision to do this and think that it would increase the chances of our nobility accepting an alliance in full, something we would most definitely like to establish._

_We would like to meet with you when you are able to, in order to decide on a date for you to give your announcement._

_We eagerly await your response._

_Kind regards, the King and Queen of Wysteria.”_

 

You let out a breath, relief rushing through you. One down. You hand the parchment to Byron, nodding. “They’re willing to go ahead with an announcement. They think it’ll help with an alliance being accepted.”

Byron takes the parchment, satisfied. He thought the Wysterians at the very least would accept. “Good.”

You open the second envelope, from Laurelia.

 

_“Dear General ___,_

_I and my nobility unanimously agree that revealing your past to the other nations would be beneficial for lessening the opposition you are facing from the bureaucrats. My own have testified to being more willing to accept your position should your past be known with proof, so we are prepared to host you here, then allow you to tell the people of your past._

_We will establish a date for your stay in the coming days._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_King Alfred of Laurelia.”_

 

Another slow breath escapes you. Two down successfully.

“Laurelia agree as well.” You murmur, handing Byron the letter. He takes it and skims it over, nodding. Two supporting countries will considerably strengthen your case, if it goes well both times.

Finally, you open the one from Carallia, eyes scanning over the neatly written words.

 

_“To the General of Vinessia,_

_Considering the geographical distance between your nation and ours, we have not been considering forming an alliance with Vinessia, nor any of the other countries in the region._

_However, considering your efforts toward ending the war with Protea, and making the area safe and stable again, we have reconsidered over the recent days. With the threat of Protean interference now gone, we are more willing to enter into trade deals with nations in your region, and to expand our democratic relations beyond our country itself._

_As such, we will allow you to make your statement here, on the premise that it is done on our terms, as we are still untrusting of the nations across the sea. We will take into consideration the recent weeks when deciding on whether or not a formal alliance would be beneficial to us, and will make our choice based on the opinions of our nobility._

_We will inform you of dates which would be possible for you to hold your statement in the next few days._

_The Queen of Carallia.”_

 

_It’s not perfect, but it’s better than I expected from her._

“Thank you.” You murmur to yourself, closing your eyes for a moment. Then, you open them, handing the letter to Byron once more. “Carallia have accepted, but they might reject the alliance proposal.”

That doesn’t surprise Byron; Carallia is quite an uninterested, split-off country because of its position across the water, and so it doesn’t really get involved with the affairs of the countries around Stein and Vinessia. “I see. Even so, they have given you a chance to be trusted, and that in itself should be a benefit to the situation.”

You nod, body becoming less tense with relief. You sit back against the cushions, feeling the pain in your side lessening as you relax. Your hand absently rests on it, a habit you’ve developed over the week and a half, and it’s not something which goes unnoticed by Byron. He finishes reading the letter, returning it to its envelope, before looking back to you. “Is it hurting?”

You shake your head, taking your hand away. “No, it’s hurting less now. Force of habit.” You sigh, thinking over what you need to do. “So, I need to arrange dates with them all now. I’ll do it today.”

Byron crosses one leg over the other, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair and levelling you with an even stare. “So long as you’re feeling able to. You mustn’t overexert yourself, or it could affect your recovery.”

Your head drifts up and down. You meet his gaze. “I’m feeling much stronger now, so I’m fine with doing them today.”

He returns the nod, albeit still wanting you to take it easy. “Good. Just let one of us know when you need to send them.” He turns to Albert and Nico. “Have there been any more updates on Protea?”

Albert shakes his head. “Not as far as I’m aware, Your Majesty. However, I have yet to speak to our sources. I could go and check with them now.”

Nico does the same. “I’m the same here; I haven’t heard anything. But, I haven’t been down into town for a few days, so I haven’t been able to listen out for updates.”

Byron nods once more, forming a plan in his mind. “Albert, go and find our sources. Have them tell you anything at all that might have changed.” Albert bows lowly, a hand over his heart. Byron turns to Nico. “Nico, go to town for the day and listen out for any rumours. See if there is anything else in relation to General ___ and Vinessia, as well.” Nico bounces up, bowing just as deeply. Both of them leave the room swiftly, going to complete their orders.

Now, you turn to Xander and Tobias. “I didn’t have time to ask earlier, but have there been any reports from Vinessia?”

Tobias shakes his head. “Nothing yet, but it’s early in the day, and we don’t get them every day regardless. I was going to ride back and see how things are, if I could.”

You know him well enough to understand that this is his way of asking for an escape from the castle. You incline your head toward him. “Of course.” You glance at Byron, asking, “Is he alright to return to Vinessia?”

Byron nods. Although he’s still not fond of Tobias, he trusts him enough now to let him have some autonomy in Stein. It’s not like he’d be able to do any damage, anyway.

“Yes. I’ll write a permanent grant of pass for you in a moment, so that you may enter and leave Stein without needing permission each time.” He turns his gaze to Xander. “I will do the same for you, as well, so that you may also come and go as you please. It’s more efficient in the long-term.”

Xander stands up, bowing deeply, tone respectful and grateful. “Thank you very much, King Byron. I greatly appreciate it.”

Tobias simply nods, but there’s a certain degree of respect and begrudging appreciation in his eyes. “Thank you. I appreciate it as well.” He turns his stare to you once more. “You okay if I go back, then? I’ll make sure everything’s still stable and get any more work that might have turned up. You’ve finished the rest, right?”

You give him a soft smile, feeling a guilty tug at your heart; you can hear the pain he’s trying to hide while he speaks. “Of course you can, thank you. And yes, I’ve finished all the work.”

He spies the completed work on the desk to the side of the room, nodding to himself once more. “Okay. I’ll take it back with me and bring the outstanding stuff.”

Byron stands up at this point, deciding that he should issue the grants for the two of them now rather than later. “If you wait for a few moments, I can give you your grant now, so you don’t have to mess about with getting another one for today. I don’t need to consult the bureaucrats, so it should only take a few moments.”

Tobias grunts, crossing his arms. “That’d be more efficient, at least. I can wait.”

Byron makes a sound of acknowledgement, moving toward the door. “I will return shortly.”

With that, he heads off to his study, going to fill out the form and paperwork for the grant.

That leaves you with Xander and Tobias. For a long, tense few seconds, it’s silent. It’s almost awkward. And it makes you feel awful.

You idly stack the envelopes on top of each other, eyes downcast, avoiding both of them. You don’t know what to say, more out of guilt than anything else; for years, you were with them, but you never once suspected anything. You never once thought that they might have feelings for you. You were blind to the emotions that, to them, have probably been the most painful for them all this time.

How can you call yourself their friend, and their best friend at that, after doing something so horrible?

You need to apologise. You need them to understand.

“Xander, Tobias.” You utter, voice gentle and quiet. They don’t say anything, but you feel them watching you. You tuck your arms around your stomach habitually, trying to make your rattled feelings less apparent.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for never noticing your feelings, and never realising that you were both hurting. I never, ever intended to do that. I’m so, so sorry, for that, and for going back on my word. I didn’t think this was even possible, nor that it would happen. I thought what I said was true, but then this happened before I’d even had time to realise.”

Neither say anything. You wince, closing your eyes, chest squeezing with stress and panic.

“___, only you could apologise for something that’s our fault.”

Your eyes open again in a fraction of a second, reeling around to Xander. He sighs, shaking his head. “It’s us who fell in love with you. It’s us who, for reasons even we don’t quite understand, assumed things we shouldn’t. We’re the ones to blame; not you.”

You frown, countering softly, “Xander, you can’t blame yourself for this. And I am guilty in this, because I didn’t see that you were both hurting. I should have-”

“Done nothing but exactly what you did.” Tobias mutters behind you, now leaning against the couch, his back to you. Your frown deepens. “You were focused and concentrated on organising a revolution with all odds stacked against you. You had a hell of a lot of things to cope with. We deliberately left this unmentioned because you _weren’t_ noticing, and it would only have possibly ruined the revolution to distract you with something so trivial.”

Your throat thickens, words coming out in a rapid rush. “But it’s not trivial, Tobias! If it’s hurting you, it’s not remotely unimportant! I can’t believe you’ve had to suffer with this for so long, and you know that to me, you being hurt or unhappy is completely unacceptable.”

His arms tremble slightly, and his voice becomes rougher, darker. “Don’t say things like that. You’re just making it worse.”

You recoil back, almost feeling like he’s physically struck you. You’ve never heard such agonised bitterness from him. “What?”

He scoffs, whipping around. Then, he’s swinging himself around the couch, approaching you swiftly. He stares down at you, stood before you. “Don’t say things like that, because it’s not fair. Not so soon after we’ve realised what’s going on. Things like that make me feel like I’ve got a chance, but then I realise that I don’t and it hurts.”

Seeing the devastation and remorse on your face, he takes a moment to collect himself and breathe, getting his control back. Then, he crouches down before you, his tone gruff and tired. “For now, at least, just stay the same. Don’t act any differently than before. If you can do that, I know I at least will be able to cope with it. Acting different and treating us differently only makes it all feel worse. Give me some normality, and I’ll be able to give it back to you.”

You want to help them. You hate that they want to deal with it alone. “I can’t just leave you to suffer, pretending you’re both okay.”

Xander speaks now, standing up and coming over to you. He crouches down on your other side, mimicking Tobias. “But you’re not going to be. You’re helping us by acting like you always have, so that we can come to terms fully with the fact that what we’ve wanted this whole time isn’t going to be ours. If we can grasp that, we can move on, and be the best friends you deserve. If you can treat us as you always have, we can learn to be with you without hurting, and simply be happy that you’re living the life you want.”

He takes your right hand, lifting it to his mouth. He kisses it tenderly, murmuring, “Help us, ___, by living your life and being happy. We want you to do that for us.”

Tobias does the same now, taking your left hand and kissing it as well. “If we can look at you and see that you’re happy with Byron, we can stand by your side and support you without it causing us pain. That’s a promise. So do us this favour, ___, and be happy.”

You have to look down at your lap for a moment, squeezing your eyes shut. You can feel the tears coming. You don’t want to do something like that, don’t want to just leave them to deal with it on their own, but you equally don’t want to cause them anymore pain.

But you’ll only hurt them more by saying no.

“Alright.” You utter, voice weak and quiet. “I’m sorry.”

Tobias sighs, but he’s smiling. He gives your hand a squeeze, then releases it before standing up. His hand curls around the back of your head, and then he leans down to kiss your forehead, surprisingly softly. You blink, surprised. He snorts. “Stop saying sorry, will you? I swear, there isn’t one thing in the world you wouldn’t apologise and blame yourself for.”

He pulls back, allowing Xander to mimic the action. “Please, ___, stop being sorry for things. You have nothing to apologise for.”

You disagree, but you hold the words back.

Soon, Byron returns with the permits, and both Xander and Tobias head out with your work, ready to go to Vinessia; the former decides to make sure that all of the finances in Vinessia are holding up, and that the townspeople are coping with everything that’s happened. They go down to the stables, and you remain in your room, as does Byron.

Neither of you speak for a while. He stands in the middle of the room, staring out of the window at the gardens, thoughts whirling.

_A few days, and I have to let her go._

His chest aches again. Yours is doing the same.

_I don’t want to leave._

You stand up slowly, cautiously, needing his touch. You make your way over to him, habitually silent in your approach, so much so that he doesn’t hear you near him.

You gently hug him from behind, locking your arms around his middle and resting your face against his back. He glances over his shoulder in surprise, having not realised that you were there. The feeling of you hugging him only worsens the pain, and his eye narrows just slightly.

He very tenderly separates your hands, turning around to face you. Wordlessly, he coils his own around your waist, and you embrace his neck, savouring the proximity. You press your forehead against his shoulder, ignoring the slight burn in your side from stretching. One of his hands comes up to your head, fingers sifting through the strands of hair, twisting them delicately before letting them fall. Finally, you speak, uttering very softly,

“We only have days left.” He closes his eye, pressing his lips against the crown of your head. He reaches up to take your right hand, bringing it down from his neck, to kiss your ring softly. He meets your gaze, determination to make you happy and to _be_ happy flushing through him.

“We will be together. We will do what we must, but I will ensure that it will happen. Trust me, and wait for me.” His words bring you a sense of strength, bolstering your own and managing to reduce your insecurity slightly. You still hate the thought of going, but knowing that you’ll eventually be with him helps. You nod.

“I trust you.” You give him a small smile, but it’s real, and you’re able to pour all your hope of a future into it. He returns it, gaze softening, before his thoughts move to your wound. The smile becomes slightly amused, a tiny twinkle glittering in his eye, and you blink in surprise. “What is it?”

He chuckles very quietly. Releasing your waist and hand, he lowers himself to one knee before you, an action that somehow seems entirely natural and right despite the drilling that he had as a child, to never lower himself before anyone other than his superiors. You go stiff, wondering what he’s doing and simultaneously blushing, because his face is now in front of your stomach. “Byron?”

Without any sort of warning, he very lightly winds his left arm around the back of your thighs, tugging you toward him just slightly. Then, he uses his other hand to nudge your shirt up, just enough to expose your side and the now thinner bandage wrapped around your middle, the wound padded with more cloth. The shallow one on your right side is also covered, but has healed well already. Your breath catches, cheeks filling with blood swiftly. “What are you…”

He only smiles wider, before he closes his eye, leaning in close to your injury. “I have a brief message for your wound.”

He replies, tone uncharacteristically teasing and light. Your heart starts to race, pounding in your chest, and you have to use all your willpower to stop yourself from dragging him up into a kiss. His mouth hovers over the bandage, and he murmurs lowly, deeply, “While I do wish for it to heal, I would appreciate it if it slowed down marginally, so as to not take you away from me so quickly.”

A gentle, loving kiss presses against the centre of the wound. Your insides churn with desire, muscles and blood heating immediately. You try to keep your expression controlled, but you can’t stop the shaking breath that escapes you.

He takes one, glanced look up at you, and immediately, he sees the fire in your eyes that he’s missed, the ones he’s only seen once before. They call to him. They’re irresistible. It drives him wild, thinking that he’s the only person who ever has and ever will see you like this. It makes him want to have you, again and again and again, engraved into his mind in that state, but not like before.

He wants to be able to have you properly, not out of fear or desperation or a threat neither of you can see.

His eyelid drifts closed once more, and he moves his lips to the side, brushing them over the skin of your stomach. Your hands move now, threading through his hair, a quiet breath rattling out of you. He kisses the flesh tenderly, the though fleeting, before he does it again with the space next to it.

His grip on your legs tightens, and when he breathes in the scent of your skin around the disinfectant, a low, rumbled sound of contentment escapes him. He peppers your stomach and hip with kisses, your fingers buried in his silky locks, eyes lidded and gaze hazy, focused on him.

He sucks just a little on your hipbone, tugging your trousers down just enough to expose it, and you can barely stifle a moan.

His self-control starts to slip. He groans quietly, using his hold on you to lift you up, rising to his feet. You cling onto his head for balance, and he takes you over to the couch, laying you down on it. He doesn’t waste a single second, sliding your top up higher, exposing your torso. Your chest heaves, skin flushed. He nuzzles his face into the flesh of your abdomen, kissing and sucking deliciously.

He shifts, moving so that he’s sitting on the cushion sideward-on, his own upper body now settled against your pelvis and lower body. Your legs lock around his waist, holding him against you, weaker than before but still strong. Insides burning with need, he brings his lips to your hipbone again, letting his tongue dart out to lick it very briefly. Back arching up, your thighs grip him harder, wanting more, needing more. His teeth graze over the same spot, and you can’t stop yourself from tightening your hold on his hair ever so slightly.

It’s ecstasy. He bites down, and you cry out into your hand with pleasure.

This isn’t like the pain you’ve had before. This is pleasurable. You love it.

But then, in the midst of the passion, footsteps approach the room.

Byron flies up and back from you, wrenching his body away from yours. He practically flings you up with him, taking you over to the chairs facing the window swiftly. You can barely walk, and practically collapse into the seat, his arms catching you the only thing to stop you from opening your wound. When you’re down safely, he drops into the other seat, both of you now facing the window and away from the door.

“King Byron, may I come in?”

Byron sighs heavily at the sound of Albert’s voice. At least it’s not one of the bureaucrats. You sink into the chair more, burning face dropped into your left hand. “Yes. Come in, Al.”

You both hear the door opening, then shutting again. Albert’s footsteps near, before he pauses, nudging his glasses up. “Are you alright, Your Majesty?”

Byron nods, skin cooling and settling quickly. He can’t say the same for his emotions and hormones, though. “Yes, I’m fine. We were just discussing the gardens while I had some time to relax.” He glances to the side, asking, “Have you already spoken to our sources?”

Albert shakes his head, producing a roll of parchment from his inner pocket. “No. I ran into Sid on the way out of the castle, and he had some developments, so I remained to listen to them. They were significant, so I decided to report them to you before I head out.”

Byron takes the parchment, opening it and skimming over the words. Albert glances at you, frowning slightly. “General ___, are you feeling alright? Do you have a headache?”

You lift your head from your hand, having been breathing deeply to settle your blush. Your skin is thankfully its normal shade by this point, fear helping to drain it from your face, and you nod. “I’m fine, Albert, thank you.”

He clears his throat, nodding. “Good. This information concerns you as well.”

You raise an eyebrow, stare shifting back to Byron. You try not to remember the sight of him practically pinning you to the couch and lavishing you with kisses. “I see.”

Byron finishes reading the parchment, and he hands it to you without a single word. Anxiety swells in your stomach, but you force it down, reading the contents yourself.

Byron exhales, thinking.

The rumours are getting stronger and stronger. The bureaucrats are aware that you’re staying in the Queen’s Chambers, and are calling for an explanation as to why, or a declaration of political marriage. They’re expecting a scandal, or the truth.

But, at the very least, the people of Stein are speaking of you like a god. Whispers and legends of your name are circulating in the town, stronger yet amongst the castle town. The rumours entail stories of how you descended upon the battle with the Laurelians, ensuring victory over the Proteans and Alderans. Praise of your actions to remove the “Beast of Protea”, Alexander, is commonplace.

So, the nobles seem restless, but not exactly opposed to a political marriage, but more because of the leverage that you have against them; you, granted with Laurelia, practically pulled Stein, Wysteria and Lindera out of the way of defeat. They have a weaker grasp on their threat, coming from your history of taking Stefan down, now that you’re actively chosen to, and successfully managed to, lead Stein to safety.

And the people seem to be accepting you already, most probably _because_ of the fact that you nearly died trying to protect their knights. There’s a lot to be said for going around town and showing little acts of kindness to individuals, but going to war with the families of those same people and saving lives is something else entirely.

It generates respect and trust, as well as a sense of gratitude. Their knights saw how you fought, saw how you only wanted to protect and defend those you care about. Many will have seen you take down Alderans to help out Nico and Albert, and at least seven saw you save Byron’s life when all of them failed to.

The rest will have heard, at least by now, that you were mortally wounded leading the beast from battle.

You roll the parchment up, letting out a slow, deep breath.

I _need to set this straight. I need to separate my bias from my people’s emotions._

“Albert.” You murmur. He straightens up, eyes widening slightly.

“Yes, General ___?” He responds. Byron watches you curiously, wondering what you’re doing. You keep your gaze on the sky, staring up at the clouds.

“Have Tobias and Xander left yet?” You ask, voice still oddly soft. Albert blinks, then shakes his head.

“Not as far as I am aware. They should still be preparing to leave, since they have to ready their horses to carry your work.” He frowns just a little. “Why?”

You turn to Byron. He immediately realises where you’re going with this, and your words only confirm it. “Keeping it a secret will only cause unrest. We all know the nobility. They won’t settle for remaining unanswered, when they’re so certain of what they think they know.”

Byron nods slowly, listening for any hesitation or fear in your voice, looking for a sign that you’re unhappy about it. He finds none. “Now would be an opportune time to announce it, while their feelings are tipped in your favour or at least even.” You return the nod, fully understanding what he’s saying.

Now is the perfect time for you to become queen. Now, they’ll accept you, and you’ll work your way up from an already raised position.

It contradicts everything you always said, just like your love for Byron did. But, going against your beliefs was the best thing you ever did, and you’ll do it again.

That is, if your people accept it. If they say no, you can’t say anything but no.

“Yes.” You turn to Albert. “Can I ask you to do something for me?”

His cheeks tint slightly at your low tone, but he nods all the same, granted looking almost wary of you. “Of course.”

Your expression becomes deadly serious, heart aching just enough to feel it. You’re hurting them again, but you have little choice.

“Bring Xander to me, and have Tobias wait with their horses. Tell Xander to prepare himself, because I’m going to have to hurt him one last time.”

 **†** **♛** **†**

It’s agony for Xander to hear your words. You see that as clear as day.

But he doesn’t fight what you’re saying, and you know that he understands why it needs to be done.

He sets off to tell Tobias on the way back to Vinessia, where they’ll organise and conduct a referendum in the coming days, as to whether the people of Vinessia would accept and want a marriage alliance between the latter and Stein.

You send and receive letters to and from Wysteria, Laurelia and Carallia over the next two days, while work is brought to you by another one of your knights. They all detail the dates of when they’d like you to make your appearance before them, and you try to make them as soon as possible, wanting everything to be sorted and out of the way swiftly. You’ll go to all three nations next week to announce who you are.

Today, you’ll announce it to Stein. Byron agreed that his people deserved to know who you are, and sent out an announcement to the townspeople, summoning them to castle.

You stand in your room now; clad in a colour you haven’t worn in a long time.

White.

Byron surprised you in the morning, bringing with him a box containing a token of appreciation from him for everything that’s happened, adding that it might make the people more inclined to listen to you. It’s similar to your uniform, although in pure white, and has a high-low design on the jacket so that the front reaches your mid-thighs, while the back comes down to your knees. The cape flutters around you, unmarked and free, flowing with the breeze coming in from the balcony.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, fixing your hair up for once, so that two pieces frame your face and the rest is held up by an intricate clasp Byron provided you with. Another clip sits at the bottom of your hair, holding the shorter hairs in place, while providing a regal appearance from the gems embedded in it.

You exhale slowly, feeling a nervous flutter in your stomach, as you fix your gloves and check yourself over for the seventh time. “I’ve done this so many times. Why do I still get nervous?” You mutter.

There’s a familiar knock at the door at this point, breaking you from your worry. You spin on your heels, crossing your arms over your stomach and calling, “Come in.”

Byron slips into the room, followed by Albert and Nico, before the latter closes the door. They all freeze upon seeing you, wearing – for once – identical expressions of surprise. Granted, Byron’s is almost non-existent, but it’s there.

You raise an eyebrow, finding their staring to be rather detrimental to your confidence. “What is it?”

Byron can’t find the words.

He’s awestruck. You’re breathtaking.

He thought you looked beautiful in black, just like him, but now that he’s seen you in white, he can’t take his eye off you. You look heavenly, like an angel or goddess, strong and proud, ready to take on the world even though you’re still in recovery.

He manages to snap out of it, allowing himself a small smile to mask his stirring emotions. “White suits you.”

You return the smile, eyes softening just slightly. “Thank you.”

Nico beams now, exclaiming, “You look so pretty, General ___!”

Albert frowns down at the smaller knight. “I’m not quite sure pretty is a fitting word.”

Nico only laughs now, asking, “Well, what word _is_ fitting, Al?”

Now, Albert blushes hard, skin turning red almost worryingly quickly. “Wha-” He scowls deeply, glaring down at Nico. “Pretty insinuates something that is delicate, and the General is most certainly not that!”

Nico just lets out a peal of giggles. “Pretty means different things depending on who you’re asking! I don’t think it means delicate.” He turns to Byron. “I bet King Byron would agree! Beauty is in the eye of the beholder!”

Byron can’t bring himself to disagree. His entire expression becomes gentle, more so than Nico and Albert have ever seen, before he murmurs, not at all ashamed saying something like this in front of the two, “I agree with you, Nico. However,” His smile widens, an almost teasing glint appearing in his eye. “I think, personally, the word radiant is much more fitting.”

Nico seems to be holding back more giggles, and Albert appears to be in mild shock. You pause, stunned into silence by his blunt honesty, before you clear your throat and divert your eyes, somewhat embarrassed and unsure of how to respond. “Thank you.”

He chuckles quietly at your shyness, but decides to relent from his teasing for now. “Are you ready? The people are all gathered outside. Not everyone can be there because not every would be able to hear, so it’s mostly the nobility, townspeople and influential figures from the more distant towns. However, the word will spread quickly, and we’ll ensure that it’s being spread correctly.”

You nod, feeling better for hearing that. “Good. I’m ready.” You fix your cape one last time, make sure your hair is secure, then make your way over to him. “Let’s hope they believe what I’m saying.”

Albert and Nico make their way out, but just as you reach Byron, he catches your right hand, gently tugging you toward him. He wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest, before he dips his head down.

His lips capture yours, and he kisses you deeply, ardently, with a tamed passion that exudes support, love and confidence. Your sound of surprise is muffled by his mouth, but you return the kiss nonetheless, savouring the reassurance he provides you by having you close.

When he withdraws, you glance at the door, seeing it closed. You give him a dubious look, to which he smirks ever so slightly, an expression you’ve never seen before. It wakes something deep inside you, sending waves of nervous, excited energy flowing through your body.

“Nico catches on quickly.” He explains simply. Your already flushed cheeks become even warmer, but he only squeezes your hand, uttering, “You truly are so beautiful, ___, in mind, body and soul. The people may take time to adjust to you entirely, but they will come to love you because your intentions are pure. You want them to be happy and safe, and you have already proved yourself to be willing to die for them. For most, that is more than enough. They will learn to trust you.”

He rests his forehead against yours for a moment, before he kisses it slowly. Then, he meets your gaze again. “I love you, and I am here for you. I will be there while you speak. You are not alone. Remember that.”

He has a talent for making you want to cry with happiness with nearly every word he says. A beaming smile forces its way across your lips, insides fluttering and twisting pleasantly. “I know.” You touch your forehead to his, just like he did. “I love you too. I’ll remember.”

You lean up, kissing him softly. He smiles against your mouth at how calm you are; he’s glad to see that you’re not panicking, or remembering anything which could hurt you during the announcement. You sigh contentedly, leaning into him, using his warmth and strong arms around you to settle your nerves. Your fingers twine through his, and he feels the ring on your finger under your gloves, reminding him all over again of his promise to you.

Before things can get too heated, you pull back, letting out a slow breath. “I don’t want to be out of breath when I’m down there.” You laugh out, skin warm and dusted with pink. His is the same, just a tint to his cheeks, and he nods in understanding. He releases you, waiting until you’re both calm and back to normal. Then, he opens the door for you, and you both make your way out.

The walk through the castle is silent but comfortable, with you and Byron like polar opposites, black and white side by side. It feels right, though, and you feel safe next to him. You aren’t afraid of facing the Steiner people. You’re ready to be honest, and you’re ready to hear their honest opinions. You’re waiting to hear their fears and worries, their hatred, their suspicion. You’ve heard it all before, and you’re more than capable of taking it all again.

When you all go through the front doors, you see the townspeople waiting at the end of the bridge behind the gates. There are many of them, all waiting and watching in anticipation. There’s a strange buzz in the air, an atmosphere of mixed emotions; excitement, nervousness, wariness, fear. But it’s mostly positive, oddly. It’s not overwhelmingly negative, oppressive or hateful like you expected. It’s comforting.

There’s a loud cheer from the crowd when you, Byron, Nico and Albert walk through the gates, heading across the bridge. There are knights at the end, making a human barrier between the people and the castle, and you all come to a stop just behind them. They move to allow you and Byron to be seen, but even then, the noise doesn’t stop.

You allow yourself a controlled, kind, calm smile, the one you were first taught by Stefan. It’s the smile of a ruler. It’s the smile that will install faith and trust in people. It’s the smile that shows your humanity, but doesn’t let anyone see anything personal or important. It’s the perfect balance, and the smile that, if anything, will win them over.

And with your eyes shining like they are, no one is safe from it.

Byron holds a hand up silently, and the cheers die down gradually, eventually turning into silence. When it’s quiet, he speaks, loud enough for his voice to echo across the vast space in front of him.

“You were called here today to be formally introduced to General ___ ____. She is the elected leader and representative of Vinessia, our neighbour, and the nation which assisted us in the war against Protea and Alder. There has been unrest regarding her past, just like there was with my own, and so today she is here to settle any concerns you may have about her and her country.”

You speak now, letting your lessons, training and scripts take over. “Thank you all for taking the time to come here today, and to listen to what I have to say. I am here today because I know that my country has a long, bloody history, and one which has not favoured any of our neighbours in the past. We – everyone in Vinessia – fully understand this, and this is why I made the decision with everyone there to dispel any rumours there are surrounding us, as well as myself personally.”

You let out a breath, preparing yourself for the first blow. “I will start by introducing myself, formally. My name is ___ ____, I am nineteen years old, and I was born a commoner in Vinessia. I am the General of the Vinessian Guard, and stand as the leader of my country. I was elected into power, rather than inheriting the position or being given it by process of position elimination, and this happened through a referendum we held shortly after the civil war ended.”

_It’s time. Now, they’ll know the truth. Everything will be on the table._

You take a moment to calm yourself again, feeling your heartbeat quickening. You focus on the wind around you, making your cape flutter and twine with Byron’s, and you remember his words from before as you start to speak.

“This is who I am. I am going to tell you exactly who you are all dealing with.”


	17. Part XVII | Identity. Referendum. Final Judgement.

**†** **♛** **†**

Some things in life get easier to talk about with time. Some get easier to speak of when you mention them often. Some things just hit a point of not affecting you anymore.

Some things never get easier. This is one of those things.

It hurts like hell.

As you tell them everything that happened to you, as you detail all the things you went through under Stefan, and all the things you were forced to do, it’s like a punch in the chest every time.

It’s half because you remember it all happening again, but half because of the devastation you see on the people’s faces when they hear the words. It’s the realisation on the nobles’ faces when you tell them of your parents’ murder, and of how you had to kill Rose to save Dean and Delia, that’s the most painful to see. It’s devastating. Something about it just gets to you, and when one noble bursts into tears at the side, it’s like being punished all over again.

Many don’t even seem shocked when you come to the revolution, when you tell them of the people’s desperation and thirst for freedom. Even the stuck-up bureaucrats you know don’t like you seem to be hit hard by the reality you tell them of, of how people starved and were punished for innocent acts and were sacrificed for the sake of Stefan’s pride.

It almost, _almost_ breaks you, when you tell them of the revolution itself. Having to ride across that bridge again, throwing yourself into the lion’s den you almost died escaping from. Having to slaughter knight after knight, life after life that you didn’t want to take, to get to Stefan. Having to fight him, even though a part of you didn’t hate him. Sitting there, pinning him to the castle’s highest rooftop, one hidden blade buried in his chest and another against his throat. His own in-tact hidden blade piercing your side, pouring and oozing blood everywhere.

You tell them how you didn’t want to kill anymore, and how it was so hard to finally behead him beneath you, ending his tyranny once and for all.

You tell them of how you stood atop the wall of the tower, his head in your hand, the people victorious beneath you. You recall how Xander and Tobias stood beside you, the purest of the people at home, and how they represented the most ordinary people taking a stand for those who couldn’t. You recall how the crowd roared with elation, with a freedom they’d never known, and how they stared up at the three of you, hands joined, on the wall.

You tell how you collapsed on that roof, and how you almost bled out there and then.

Your throat is aching, lungs burning, by the time you bring things up to the present day, explaining in all honesty how you suffer with what you’ve done and how you haven’t just started war and walked away free. You make it explicitly clear that you’ll probably have a short, or at least horrifically strained life, from everything you’ve been through.

You even show them your blades, explaining how they’ve become the thing that makes you feel safe, because they’ve saved your life when Stefan threw you into the most dangerous situations, but how you hate wearing them despite all of that.

They don’t seem surprised. You’re glad.

But when you’re done, you feel like you’ve done your best, and that you’ve confessed all your sins to the people of Stein. They know now. How they react is up to them.

You close your eyes, falling silent, catching your breath. When they open again, you expect them all to be sickened and angry, or for them to shout for you to leave. You wait for their hatred and rejection of you. You wait to be unwanted again.

It doesn’t come. For a long, long time, there’s nothing but dead silence. Looks are shared. The mix of nobles and townspeople seem unsure of what to do.

But you don’t prompt them for a response. You remain patient, as does Byron, until finally the silence is broken.

“King Byron!” A voice shouts from the crowd. The accent immediately makes you certain that it’s not a noble. “Is everything she’s said true? I want to believe her, but I’ll do it without question if you trust her.”

“Do you trust her?” Another voice calls out.

Byron nods, surely and strongly, responding without hesitation. “Yes, I do trust her. I have independently investigated and verified everything she says happened through her life, and have found nothing but support and matching dates and times to confirm it. I have also conducted some surveillance in Vinessia – covertly, so as to avoid bias – and have had agents from Stein collect certifying evidence from the Vinessian people themselves that all of this is true.”

“We can say without any element of doubt that everything in Vinessia claimed to have happened truly did happen, and that everything specific to General ___’s life is also undoubtedly true.”

You didn’t know about that, but in a way, you’re glad; it’s evidence they can’t dispute. It does avoid bias, and means that Stein knows exactly what happened even without taking your word for it.

There’s silence once more. You press your lips together.

Finally, someone steps forward from the crowd. A noble, obviously, from his finely made clothes and posture. “I trust General ___, and acknowledge her fully as an invaluable ally to Stein. I believe that she has pure intentions for Stein, and for the other nations, regardless of her past. She only acts out of a desire to protect others, and has only done bad things when her hand has been forced, because she is the type of person to bear the burden when no one else will.”

Your heart sings. It’s only when you look at his face and hair that you recognise him.

Lord Barnes. It’s the noble you helped out of the water when he was kicked in by the host of the cultural meeting.

A smile spreads across your lips, a real, grateful one. You bow respectfully, then straighten up and speak clearly. “Thank you, Lord Barnes. I’ll do everything I can to further prove that to you. You are correct, in that all I wish for is the happiness, prosperity and health of my own nation, along with all of those around us, and those who wish us no harm.”

Another two nobles step forward now, and you know immediately that they’re even more powerful than Lord Barnes. The female one has a child sat on her hip, you see, and now that your memories of the cultural meeting have been jogged, you recognise him as one of the children that you saved. Both the female and – presumably – her husband step forward, and the woman speaks, her tone strong, blunt and to the point.

“Despite our lack of trust for any nation, and any person from a nation other than Stein, we have absolute faith and trust in you, General. You saved our son’s life when no one else was seemingly able or willing to, despite the risk it posed to your own life. You brought him back to that other knight, and he was returned safely, at the cultural meeting. Not only did you do that, but you saved another child, then its parents, along with Lord Barnes and the host of the meeting. Anyone with impure intentions would not have taken such a risk, and we have no reason as such to doubt you now.”

The man bows lowly, and she curtseys, respect in the actions obvious. The man speaks now, his tone almost identical to hers. “Thank you, General ___. You have our full support. Anyone who cannot understand the weight of your actions even just on that day, not to mention during the war, is a fool. Stein would be idiotic to reject an ally such as yourself and your country.”

Your heart is pounding away in your chest. You can only bow deeply, then rise up once more. “Thank you very much. I hope that both Stein and Vinessia can work together to become even stronger together, and build up a healthy, productive democratic relationship, if that is what the people of Stein wish.”

At your words, there’s a sudden, abrupt collection of shouts and cheers. You hear the crowd calling their support for you, people yelling that they trust you and Vinessia, that they want an alliance between Stein and your country. Even the nobles who seemed much less inclined to agree are nodding or clapping slowly, and you can’t see anyone outright protesting.

Your insides twist and clench with relief, and you let yourself smile properly, bowing one last time. “Thank you. I’ll keep proving to you all that we as a people can be trusted and relied upon.”

There’s a deafening round of cheers again. They start to chant your name, repeating it again and again. You could cry with elation, but you settle for standing there, etching the moment into your mind, so you’ll never forget that these are the people you need to prove your worth to.

In the midst of all this, you barely see the child on the noble’s hip start to squirm, reaching toward you. You pause, watching as he fumbles with something in his tiny coat, before pushing away from his mother. A first, she tries to calm him, but it’s clear that he wants to be put down. She finally relents and set him on the floor.

He takes off, sprinting straight toward the bridge.

The knights seem stuck for a moment, unsure of what to do since it’s a child, and all of them reach for him when he nears them. He ducks through one’s legs, escaping their attempts to stop and seemingly deaf to their warnings.

And he runs straight to you, producing a burgundy dahlia flower, ones which are a deep wine shade to the point of nearly being black. You stare for a second, stunned, as he offers it up to you.

The crowd has quietened by this point, as people have realised what’s happened, and so his tiny voice is heard when he explains, “I got this for you, because you saved me when I was in the water. It’s almost black, and you wore black when I saw you, so it reminded me of you. I like your clothes now as well, though. This is my token for you, for saving me.”

Your heart clenches. The gesture is so sweet and innocent; it almost seems unreal to someone like you.

But, you force your surprise back, kneeling down in front of the boy so that you’re at eye level with him. The guards have stopped, seeing this, and instead watch on dubiously. “I’ll happily accept it. Thank you very much; it’s beautiful. I’ll take good care of it.”

He beams at you. “Can I put it in your hair? It’ll look pretty, I promise.”

You can’t hold back a soft chuckle at that, expression becoming much gentler. You may as well; otherwise, it’ll upset him. “Of course you can.”

You lower your head, and he reaches up to nudge the stem into your hair, until the flower sits securely in the strands. Glancing up, you can see his mother and father watching in amazement, seemingly frozen in place.

Even so, his mother meets your gaze, and upon seeing the slightly nervous smile you give her, she sighs with a shake of her head. She smiles back, in a way that tells you she’s not angry about it. Her husband grins now, over his shock, and you can see many of the others in the crowd doing the same.

You look back to the boy, asking, “What’s your name?”

He seems to become even more hyped up at your question, answering proudly, “Lord Alec Doherty, Lady ___!”

You grin back, letting his mistaking of your title slip. “Well, it’s lovely to see you again, Lord Alec.”

He steps back, giving you a wave. “You too, Lady ___! Bye!”

You wave back amusedly, stopping when he reaches his mother and is scooped up into her arms once more. You straighten up, and it’s at this point that you reckon you should finish things up. “Thank you once again, for taking the time to listen and give me a chance. I swear on my life, honour and name, I will do everything in my power to keep my people safe, and to assist in doing the same with the other nations if it’s needed. Thank you for trusting in me.”

Another deafening roar. Byron openly smiles, having been still and silent for most of the speech, drawing another round of applause.

But then someone shouts out a question you were hoping wouldn’t be asked.

“Will Vinessia be considering Stein in a marriage alliance?”

You go still. So does Byron. The cheers quieten.

There’s a low rumble of murmurs, people turning heads, trying to figure out what the majority opinion is. Some people look confused, and others look almost excited. A new speaker from the back shouts next, followed by more.

“His Majesty and the General would be perfect together!”

“Yeah! They’d make our nations stronger if they were together!”

“Yeah… they really would!”

Now, more and more people join in, seeming to agree with said opinion. You don’t know what to do.

Thankfully, though, Albert decides to step forward at this point, yelling above the commotion, “There will be no further comments at this time. That is all.”

He turns to the both of you, gesturing toward the castle. “Your Majesty, General, you should return to the castle.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “I imagine you must feel worn out from standing for so long. You shouldn’t push yourself considering your recovery.”

You can’t nod fast enough. You spin on your heels with Byron, heading back down the bridge again, toward the gates to the castle. The cheers don’t stop, even as you reach the front doors. Nico and Albert open them for the both of you, and you disappear inside the castle, the noise cuts off when the doors shut again.

Usually, you have enough adrenaline from fear pumping through you to get you through nerve-wracking situations without your body reacting particularly badly. After all, most of the time, you either had no choice (as in the case of Stefan showcasing you to people en mass), or were around a lot of people, but ones you were entirely comfortable with and weren’t nervous around (as in the case of the revolution).

Now, though, there’s no dramatic situation distracting you, and you weren’t comfortable. You just had to remember everything, all at once, and tell it all at once. You couldn’t take a minute to collect yourself or calm down.

And it’s hitting you hard.

You can feel yourself shaking, limbs trembling, heart stuttering with suppressed panic and fear. You make a beeline for the stairs, placing a hand over your heart and feeling it hammering under your jacket. Byron sees this and follows, listening to you as you explain, “I need to rest for a moment.”

He nods immediately, seeing that your skin has drained of blood, observing your trembling form and slightly erratic breaths. “Of course.”

By the time you reach your room and Byron opens the door, your body is just about ready to give in. Albert and Nico come in behind you, Byron mere inches away.

The second you slow down, mind registering that you’re away from prying eyes and are safe to be weak, your legs give out under you. Your head spins, side throbbing with pain. Your eyes are closed before your knees hit the floor.

Byron lurches forward, Nico and Albert doing the same. The king catches you by your waist before you go down completely, falling to his own knees beside you. You’re completely limp by the time he turns you onto your back, cradling you against his chest. Your breaths are short and shallow, limbs now shaking violently, and your eyes are squeezed shut tightly.

You can’t get it out of your head. The memories of the revolution, the ones you took months to suppress and silence, come rushing back. Real, deep fear and pain consume you. Your hand comes up, gripping your head tightly.

“Get the doctor, now. I don’t care what he’s doing. Bring him here.” Byron orders sharply, not taking his eye from you. Albert bolts up and out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Nico crouches down on your other side, face crestfallen and almost pained as well.

You release a quiet whimper, body curling in on itself out of helpless panic. Byron hushes you gently, managing to pull your hand away from your head, before curling his own around the side and front of your forehead.

You see it again, feel it again. The stab in your abdomen, Stefan’s blade piercing your flesh. The agony of having to decapitate him and show his head to your people, even when you were bleeding out.

A strangled cry forced its way through your lips, hand now gripping Byron’s jacket, trying to cling onto reality. Byron sees this and lowers his head, mouth centimetres from your own, whispering the words he hopes will help you.

“___, listen to me. You are not at war. No one is coming to hurt you. I’m here, and I will keep you safe. Stefan is gone, Protea isn’t a threat anymore. Vinessia is safe because you saved it. Stein, Laurelia, Wysteria and Lindera are all safe because you won the war. No more fighting, ___, I promise. Come back to me.”

He buries your face in his shoulder, lips staying close to your own, helping you fight through the pain. “I love you. I love you so much. I’m here for you. You promised me you’d never forget that. You’re in Stein, not in Vinessia. You’re safe.”

His voice breaks through the dark. It helps you to focus, to calm yourself and distract your thoughts from your memories. You hold onto him tighter, feeling the sensation of suffocating building up at the back of your throat. You cough, then gasp, trying to take in as much air as you can.

Byron shifts swiftly, so that you’re sat up straight. You’re leaning against his chest sideward-on, while one of his knees is behind you and the other is next to yours. “Breathe, ___. I want you to breathe. Listen to me.”

You’re trying. You’re trying so hard, but your throat won’t open up. You haven’t suffered like this for a long time, since you’ve been able to avoid the revolution almost entirely. Now that you’re having such a strong attack, you can barely think, can barely bring yourself to remember how to stop it.

You side is burning. You hope you haven’t opened the stitches.

“By… Byron…” You pant out, breathing still erratic and uneven. “S-Side… hurts… st-itches…”

He immediately opens your jacket with his left hand, supporting you with his right, before he pulls up the white shirt underneath, exposing lower body. On your left side, where the deep wound is, the bandage has a very faint, very light spot of blood blossoming through. It’s only a pale rose colour through the bandage, but it’s enough to make Byron’s heart pound away in his chest, frantic and worried.

_The doctor will be here soon. Keep her calm._

He presses his lips to your temple, then your forehead, murmuring softly, “Breathe. Do it now, ___. Breathe in.”

Through your broken haze, you hear the instruction. It cuts through the overwhelming emotions, allowing you to cling to the words. Trying to ignore the involuntary movements of your lungs, you force yourself to breathe in deeply, paying attention to the sensations you can feel, watching for any sign that you might have blood in your throat.

Not feeling anything, you let the air out again. Your fingers stay clenched around Byron’s arm now, gripping onto him, and the scent of him so close helps you to calm yourself a bit more.

“Good girl.” He utters, so softly and quietly that only you can catch it, observing you breath deeper than before. It’s comforting. It’s praise. It’s reassurance and love. It’s not condescending, for once. “You’re doing beautifully, my queen. It’s nearly over. The doctor is coming to tend to your wound. Focus on me. Keep breathing.”

_“My queen…”_

Another slow, deep breath in. He kisses your forehead tenderly, even with Nico sat right there, watching on worriedly.

_If everyone in Vinessia, or at least the vast majority, agree…_

The breath rattles out of you. The fear settles just a little, thawed away by the flutter in your stomach.

_I’ll be a queen. Byron’s queen. Stein’s queen. Vinessia’s queen._

The door opens, although you don’t really hear it. Another breath. Byron doesn’t move.

_I feel like it shouldn’t, but… that makes me happy._

The doctor comes in, then stumbles to a halt, carrying his medical equipment. Albert closes the door behind him, nudging him forward with a mild glare. The doctor seems unsure of what to do, staring down at the King of Stein, cradling the leader of Vinessia in his arms like there’s not another thing in the world that matters.

Byron levels the doctor with a deadly serious stare, stating bluntly, “She collapsed. Her wound has opened, or the stitches have at least loosened. She’s having a panic attack.”

The doctor appears to try his best to shake off the shock, nodding and coming over quickly when Byron doesn’t move. Nico moves back so that the doctor can take his place, and he peers down at the bandage. He nods to himself, opening his bag and retrieving the necessary tools for fixing your stitches. He’s silent as he does this, then unwinds the bandage from your waist, exposing the wound.

There’s blood around it again. It ebbs out from under the torn stitch, just a small bubble, but it’s enough to make Byron’s insides clench.

“King Byron, with all due respect, she needs to be lain flat, if not moved to the bed.” The doctor mutters, head lowered and gaze on your wound as he dabs the blood away with his cloth. Byron’s mind recoils at the thought of having to let you go when you’re still feeling vulnerable, but he knows he has little choice. He turns to Nico.

“Bring me one of the cushions from the couch.” He murmurs. Nico nods, shooting over to retrieve one, before he brings it over. “Place it under her head. She’s still coming out of the panic attack, and I want to ensure that she can breathe properly.”

“Of course, King Byron.” Nico responds. Byron lies you back, and Nico positions the cushion under you, allowing Byron to rest your head against it. Byron turns to be facing you, the doctor to his side, before he takes your hand from his arm and holds it in his own. When he speaks, his voice is deathly quiet, with a steely tone of command reverberating through it, directed at the doctor.

“You are to remain silent about this. You may make whatever assumptions you wish, but you are not to breathe a word to anyone of it. If you do, the consequences will be severe.” He turns his gaze on the man’s slightly nervous expression. “It will not be for long, however. You will not have to keep it to yourself for a significant amount of time.”

The doctor bows his head, getting to work on removing the old stitches from your wound. He requests that he has some water, and Nico goes off to retrieve it while he inspects the rest of the injury’s healing progress. Byron monitors your breathing, seeing you following his soft-spoken instructions to do so deeply, kneeling beside you and holding your hand. His other strokes over your hair lovingly, then your cheek, cupping your face.

“May I be so bold to ask to speak freely, Your Majesty?” The doctor finally asks, almost whispering, tone hesitant. Byron nods wordlessly, eye never moving from your face. “I believe that the General and yourself hold feelings for each other.” Byron remains still and silent, but a tiny, tiny little motion of his head is enough to confirm the doctor’s thoughts.

He swallows, then manages to smile, his expression softening. “I see. I have believed for a long time, and have never strayed from the thought that, you would both make a wonderful couple. Not only in the traditional respect, but as rulers as well. I think you will both bring about productive, beneficial change, and that you will both be loved by your people for it.”

_Change…_

Byron’s gaze becomes more distant, thoughts whirling.

_She has already shaken the world with her existence. Her occupation, appearance, and behaviour, have all but ripped away the foundations of society’s standards._

He brushes your hair back from your face, letting out a soft breath. Your breathing has slowed now; the attack seems to have passed quickly, fortunately, at least this time. Unbeknownst to him, you’re bordering on passing out, exhausted from the sudden stress and emotional weight of the day. You can’t focus on the conversation around you anymore.

_I want her to keep changing things. I want to be there for her, so she can show the world how it should be, and I can do everything in my power to do the same._

“So, you would accept a relationship between myself and General ___? Would you expect a formal marriage between ourselves and our nations?” Byron prompts, pressing his lips to your knuckles.

Nico returns now, entering with two bowls of water. Albert lets him in and shuts the door behind him, and then the young knight is placing the bowls next to the doctor, remaining kneeled on the floor near him. The doctor clears his throat, dampening the cloth in the water, before answering.

“Yes, I would accept a relationship between the two of you. I would not _expect_ a marriage, because I feel that it’s not necessary considering how much you evidently care for one another – if I may be so bold to say so – but I would not reject it in the slightest, Your Majesty.” His response is relieving to Byron, and the young monarch glances at him from the side.

“You often head into town and to villages to retrieve herbs and medicinal supplies, do you not?” The doctor nods, starting to re-stitch the wound. “Have you heard much talk of this matter from other citizens?”

The doctor nods again, eyes remaining lowered while he speaks. “Yes. It was a topic of conversation on-off before the war, and even then, I would often hear of people considering what it would be like for General ___ to be queen. Some were hesitant, worried about her ambiguous identity and whatnot, but many took a liking to her naturally, spurred on by her actions during the cultural meeting; the news spread from the nobility to the towns quickly.”

He lets out a sigh, but a smile slips onto his face. He fastens up the stitch and secures it, then starts to wind a fresh bandage around your waist, briefly inspecting your other wound as well. It’s healing well, and hasn’t opened yet, Byron observes.

“After the war, I went down into the towns more often because of the increased number of wounded I was seeing to in the castle. As such, I got to hear more people speaking about this. The very wide majority of people I heard had nothing but praise for her, and newly-found trust. Many realised that she would have done something when the opportunity was present in the war, should she and Vinessia have had the intentions to. They recognised that she didn’t, however.”

Finally done, he sits back on his heels, staring down at your face for a moment. “Most of the people – that I heard, at the very least – wanted her to be the queen. Some said they didn’t like that she doesn’t wear dresses, and that she’s working in the profession that she is, but many of those people still said they preferred her.”

That strikes Byron as odd. He sends the doctor a dubious look. “Why was that?”

The doctor manages a small grin. “The reasons varied, but the most common one I recall was, ‘She’s got more backbone and is more genuine than any of the nobles in the castle.’ That’s their opinion, of course. Others were along the same lines of not trusting the nobility, others said it was because they wanted to see her try – and presumably fail, in their eyes – to be a good enough queen, and others simply wanted something new and different.”

Hope swells inside Byron’s chest.

_We have a chance. She will become queen._

“Thank you, for treating her, and for this information. All of it is extremely important and valuable to us.” He says gratefully, feeling your pulse for a moment. From your steady breathing and lack of movement, you’re asleep, no doubt worn out by pain and emotional strain. “Is it safe to lift her onto the bed?”

The doctor nods, standing up. “You are most welcome, Your Majesty. It is an honour to be of assistance.” He goes over to the bed, pulling back the covers. “And yes, as long as it is done carefully, so as to not contort her torso or move it sharply.”

Byron makes a sound of acknowledgement, sliding an arm under your thighs, and the other under your back. Nico comes over, supporting your spine, and does so while Byron takes you over to the bed. He lies you down, planning to change you into something more comfortable once everyone has left.

He does take your boots off for now, though, before covering you with the quilt. The doctor smiles at this, satisfied, before collecting his things. “I will come and check up on her in a little while, Your Majesty, if that is all.”

Byron makes another sound, glancing at the doctor over his shoulder. “Yes, thank you.”

The doctor bow, ducking out of the room with his things. Byron sighs to himself, sitting next to you on the bed. “Nico, Albert.”

The two knights step forward, immediately ready and waiting for orders. Byron lifts a lock of your hair, staring down at it. He closes his eye.

“Go and find Sid. Tell him I have a job for him; a big one.”

…

Three days pass. You lay in wait. So does Byron.

Sid was sent away to scout at least Laurelia, Wysteria and Protea, to gather as much information on how people would react to you and Byron being together, as well as in a marriage alliance. You sent word to Xander and Tobias to do the same with the referendum, since it was being held the day after your speech to Stein, and they dutifully sent word back that they would change the vote accordingly.

It’s killing you. The referendum is done, and Sid is due back today.

You stand at the window in your room, stomach churning with nerves, dressed in black fitted trousers, a black shirt, boots and the scarf Byron gave you. The latter was brought over by one of your knights, apparently from Xander, telling you to stay warm.

You’re to go back to Vinessia tomorrow, despite not wanting to leave Byron, and so this is your last day in Stein. It’s unlikely that you’ll be back again for a while, considering your absence from home.

Locked in your thoughts, you barely hear Byron come in. You do know that it’s him, though, from his footsteps and smell, and so you remain still while he approaches you. His arms curl around your middle, tucking themselves around your stomach tightly. His chin places itself atop your shoulder, against the scarf, and he presses a kiss to your throat. “Are you alright?”

You nod, closing your eyes, focusing on his steady breathing against your back. “Yes. Nervous, to some extent, but that’s expected. I’m fine.”

He hums lowly, the sound sending a shiver through your body. Your hands come to settle atop his forearms, crossed over your abdomen, and you nuzzle your head against his. He trails light kisses up your neck, murmuring, “Whatever the results, from both Sid and Vinessia, we will work with them. Regardless of what happens, we will face it, together.”

A smile graces your lips. He raises his head, allowing you to rest your forehead against his and utter, “I know. Thank you, Byron.”

He returns the smile majestically, a sight that never fails to make your heart miss a beat. “You’re welcome.”

He brings his left hand up to take a lock of your hair in his fingers, then kiss it tenderly, before letting it go once more. He turns you around, curling his right arm around your waist, while the other comes up so that he can cup your face. Your own hands press against his chest, but they immediately slide up to loop around his neck, fingers threading through his hair.

His smile widens at this, and he lowers his head, lips hovering over yours. “I find myself so compelled to say this, more and more each time I see you.”

He brushes his thumb over your cheekbone. “I love you, ___, more than anything. You will become queen, and the people will love you as well. Granted, not nearly as much as I do, I would hope.”

Your lips curl up, a grin forming on them. It takes his breath away. “Even if they did, I wouldn’t care in the slightest. You’re the only one I love, Byron. I love you so much, there aren’t enough words to say it.” A quiet laugh escapes you. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

He returns the chuckle, nodding. “Indeed. You’re all mine, and I’m all yours.” He moves his lips to leave them near your ear, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin there. “Although, I have yet to personally make sure of that. I suppose I’ll have to ensure that it happens on our wedding night.”

Your skin burns, heart suddenly pounding, but the thought doesn’t repulse you like it used to. It’s odd, and a tiny part of you doesn’t like it, but another part of you is starting to come around to the idea. You’re still entirely opposed to having children, but this… you can be flexible with. “Byron…”

Another low laugh rumbles out of his, reverberating through his chest and into yours. Your limbs tremble. “After all, Steiner honeymoons last for three days.”

You freeze, pulse going into overdrive. You’d heard of that rumour, but you didn’t think it was true. “That’s… true? I didn’t think it was real.”

“Yes. I believe the other nations have single-night honeymoons. You’ll have to prepare yourself.” He muses, obviously amused and enjoying your embarrassment. You turn your face to the side, skin melting.

“Byron!” You exclaim, drowning in mortification at the suggestiveness of his words. He relents now, satisfied that he’s teased you enough. Wordlessly, he leans down to sweep you off your feet, cradling you in his arms while being cautious of your wound. You let out a yelp of surprise, clinging onto his neck. “What are you doing?”

He hums once more, staring down at you, a mischievous twinkle glittering in his eye. “I’m practicing how I’m going to carry you down the aisle. It’s important that it’s done right.”

God. Your heart is going to explode at this rate. You bury your face in his shoulder, mumbling, “Please don’t. It’s… well… it’s…” He raises an eyebrow, making a questioning sound. You groan quietly. “It’s going to be so weird. I’ll be in a dress, and everyone’ll be watching, and… I don’t know.”

He sets you on your feet, sliding his hands around your face to cup your cheeks tenderly. “___, if it’ll make you uncomfortable, we can make arrangements for it to be different. It’ll complicate things, granted, but that matters little. I want you to be happy, considering that this wasn’t even something you wanted a couple of weeks ago.”

You place your hands on his, lowering your eyes to his chest. “I don’t mind it; it’s just going to be strange. I haven’t worn a dress in so long, so it’ll be hard to adjust, even if only for the day. It’s… hard to explain. Getting married is light and happy, something that’s done delicately and glamorously. I’m not used to all that, so it’s just going to be a shock when it happens.”

You shake your head, meeting his gaze. “But I want to do it. I feel like it’s right, both in what we want to do, and in what’s best for the people of both Stein and Vinessia. I’ve always said I’d do anything for them, and this comes under it, considering how beneficial it would be.” Your smile returns, voice becoming lighter and more joking. “But if possible, let’s not put me in heels. A dress I can handle, but if things go awry, I am not running around in those.”

He can’t stifle his own smile, the unease in his chest loosening. “If you’re absolutely certain.” You nod, no hesitation in the movement at all. He lets out a breath. “I will persuade Albert to release you from having to wear heels. He’s rather traditional, but he’ll bend if I ask him to.”

Another laugh drifts from your lips. “Thank you.”

“That being said-”

He goes to make another teasing comment, but it’s cut short by a knock at the door. He drops his hands, stepping back from you slightly. You cross your arms instinctually, wiping your expression clean. The dread from earlier creeps back, settling in your stomach like an anchor.

“___? It’s Xander, Tobias, and Sid. We’ve got a lot to tell you.”

Your eyes snap to Byron. He does the same with you, silently communicating the same thing.

_It’s time. Let’s see what the people have to say._

“Come in.” You call back.

The three walk in, followed by Albert and Nico. Sid is just as tall and imposing as usual, but an even bigger smirk is on his lips, and he looks extremely, unnaturally smug. That could be very, very good, or very, very bad. You assume it’s the latter.

Xander gives you a soft smile, and Tobias sends you a small but genuine one as well. You manage to give it back, seeing Xander holding several rolls of parchment in the crook of one arm, then a sheaf of papers in his other hand. Sid has several rolls himself.

The latter steps forward first, winking at you cockily. “Good to see you upright, General. Last time I saw ya, you were pretty much crossed over to the other side. How are you holding up?”

Byron gives him a subtle glare. You can’t help but smile at his informality. “I’m doing well. My wounds are healing, and hopefully I’ll be fully recovered in two or so months. Thank you, Sid, for what you did for me. You saved my life, and I won’t forget that. I’m in your debt.”

He grins, eyes sparkling. “Yeah? What do I get as a reward for my efforts?” Byron’s glare intensifies, his heart clenching, an unpleasant sensation gripping his insides. Sid snorts. “I’m guessing nothing, then. Worry not, Byron. I ain’t gonna steal her away from you.”

Byron raises an eyebrow, unamused by the mere thought. “I would advise that you watch your tongue, Sid. Remember who you are speaking to.”

Sid just rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” He holds the rolls of parchment out, explaining dryly. “That was a hell of a job, so I got a lot of info. It’s all collated in one roll, and the others are more detailed. You might just wanna look at the simplified one for now.”

You glance at Byron. He takes the rolls, finding the simplified one, then setting the others on the desk behind him. He offers the remaining one to you. “It’s regarding you, so I imagine you’d like to read it first.”

You blink, surprised; Sid got the information for Byron, so it’s somewhat shocking that he doesn’t mind you reading it first. “I don’t mind. Don’t you want to read it first?”

He gives a minute shrug, not particularly concerned about who gets it first. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

You raise an eyebrow inquisitively, instead suggesting, “We can both read it, then.”

He pauses for a brief second, wondering why you wouldn’t want to read it straight away considering how important it is. He shakes off the surprise, though, putting it down to how selfless and patient you are. “Alright.”

He opens the roll, and you step up to his side, eyes lowering to the words on the parchment. His own does the same.

For a “simplified” version, there’s still a lot to read, but the main points stand out. They get the results down clear as day.

Stein has almost unanimous public support for a relationship and marriage. Wysteria has the same support, although the nobles are pushing for better democratic relations between Stein, Wysteria and Vinessia now.

Laurelia is in full public and parliamentary support of a relationship and marriage, and is hoping for an official, formal alliance between Laurelia, Vinessia and Stein. Lindera supports the relationship and marriage.

Word from Carallia says that the people there are dubious about the marriage, but they don’t particularly care about it very much and have no reason to object to it. Protea doesn’t support neither the relationship nor the marriage, because the people want an alliance between Protea and Stein instead.

And most of the countries have heard stories of who you are; they have a vague idea of your past.

“Pretty much, everyone except Protea’s on your side. You’ve got more than enough clearance to go for it as far as other nations go.” Sid summarises. He then glances at Xander and Tobias, snorting. “Assuming Vinessia’s happy with it in the first place.”

You let out a slow breath, heart filling with relief. You have support. The other nations won’t prevent an alliance, nor your relationship, or the marriage, whenever it happens.

But you need to know how your own people feel, before you even consider moving forward.

Your eyes lift to Xander. He’s still smiling, and steps up to be in front of you. He produces one of the rolls of parchment, one that’s smaller than the others, tied with a crimson ribbon. “This is the result of the referendum. The others are broken down demographics and details, but you can look over them in a bit. Just read this, for now.”

Your insides squirm. Nervousness, fear and worry flood your mind. You take the roll, looking to Byron again. He nods.

You inhale deeply, calming yourself and settling your rising emotions, before you undo the ribbon and unroll the parchment. The words are simple and to the point, written beautifully, but their meaning means so much more.

 

_“General ___,_

_The people of Vinessia have voted, by a clear majority of 83% to 17%, that they agree to a relationship and marriage between yourself and King Byron Wagner of Stein. The representing nobility have given full support and see only benefits to doing this._

_However, it should be taken into consideration that Sir Xander and Sir Tobias gathered information in relation to individual opinions on this matter after the referendum, and found the following things._

_The public widely hold the opinion that they are not inherently opposed to you becoming a queen, so long as you personally wish to, and so long as King Byron does not attempt to assume control of Vinessia in any way. They also raised the concern that they do not want you to birth an heir at least for a considerable amount of time if ever, and for this to only happen should you want to, as they are all aware of your feelings towards motherhood._

_To conclude, you have the support of your people, but they want you to do what you are content with. They want their new queen to be a symbol of freedom rising from the ashes of the tyrant she defeated, and for this queen to rule in her way, for Vinessia, not for anyone else._

_The results of this referendum have been verified and certified by members of the nobility and public, and by Sir Xander and Sir Tobias.”_

 

The tears start to form, and you hastily blink them away, letting out a breathless, elated laugh. A beaming smile forms on your lips. You turn to Byron, he having been watching and waiting patiently, and the joy in your eyes tells him everything. You give him the parchment, letting him read over the words himself.

He feels the exact same. Love swells in him, happiness exploding inside his heart and mind, overtaking him. He smiles widely, genuinely, before a breathtaking grin graces his features.

Xander is grinning as well, and now he opens his arms, stepping toward you. You go into them automatically, letting him hug you fiercely. “Congratulations, ___. From that reaction, I have no doubts anymore that this is what you want. I never thought I’d say it, but I can’t wait for you to be queen.”

“Yep,” Tobias adds, coming over and throwing his arms around you both, squishing you between the two of them. “Even though I didn’t think it’d ever happen, this is what the people want. If they’re happy, I know you’re happy, and I can see that this is something you don’t mind doing. As long as you’re not going to be a tyrant or a bad queen, I can live with you being one. I’m expecting you to keep kicking those social standards out of here, though, got it?”

You laugh again, nodding. The two release you, and you turn to Byron, unable to stop smiling. You can make most of them happy. You can make the people of Stein and Vinessia feel even safer, can make them feel even more loved and protected.

It goes against everything you’ve believed in for a long time, but ever since Byron came into your life, that’s all that’s happened to you.

And, somehow, you’ve gotten used to it now. You don’t really mind at all.

“I’m going to be a queen. That’s going to take a long time to wrap my head around, seeing as I spent years saying I’d never so much as speak to another member of royalty.” You sigh out, running a hand through your hair. Sid howls with laughter, and you shake your head, still smiling. “I’m such a hypocrite.”

“You’re not.” Byron responds, tone gentle. “You’re doing what’s best for your people, and for mine, while ensuring your own happiness. You’re doing what only the best leaders do. You’re protecting your nation like a queen while remembering your humanity, and retaining your relationship with the people you’re protecting. My people want you to be queen, and your people understand that it’s what’s needed in order to avoid major problems in the future.”

He moves to be closer to you, gaze softening further, taking on a loving shine. “You becoming queen will help not only you, and Vinessia, but also myself and Stein in time. We will be able to become stronger from this, and will be able to grow. I don’t see any of that as hypocritical, regardless of what your opinions were after you suffered abuse at the hands of a royal. You’ve realised that the things you assumed before weren’t true, and have moved on now. You’ve acknowledged that. You are not a hypocrite.”

Your vision blurs and shifts with fresh tears, and you nod, heart thudding away in your chest. You can barely contain the urge to kiss him right here and now. “Thank you.”

Sid stretches his arms, grinning like the devil. He leans down, peering at your face, before he asks, “So, what now, Your Highness?”

That odd sensation comes back, coupled now with mild embarrassment. You roll your eyes. “Oh, stop it. It’s going to be a while before it happens, and I’d rather just be called by my name anyway.”

Tobias cackles. “Good girl. There’s another stupid rule down the drain.”

You can’t help but join him in laughing. “I don’t want the people to feel like I’ve changed. They all know me by my name, and that’s it. The knights call me General, but that’s to keep them in line. I want to stay the same to everyone in Vinessia, at least.”

Albert and Nico have been completely silent up until now, Nico beaming and Albert staring emotionlessly, but now the latter scowls. “The title has nothing to do with you ‘changing’. It’s there so that people know you are of a much, much higher status than them, and so that they know to treat you with the utmost respect.”

You cock an eyebrow, tilting your head. “The way I see it, I won’t be of higher status than them. I never have been. I’ve only taken on the role as the leader and representative of the people at home, to speak for them to other nations. Becoming queen, as far as I’m concerned, doesn’t make me more significant than any of them.

“We’re all humans. We’re all the same. A royal should be the embodiment of their people and their culture, so they should never strive to be anything but the essence of their people. If I see myself as higher than them, I’m losing sight of the purpose that title holds.”

You shrug, continuing to rattle on, “As for respect, everyone should be treated with that. It’s a fundamental part of ‘humanity’ to respect others, so only a few people being treated with that highest level of respect is dehumanising the rest. That’s how I see it in my head, so I don’t want that to happen. I want to stay the same, and be treated the same.”

It’s silent for a long few moments.

Finally, Sid comes over, patting you on the shoulder with a huge smirk. “I cannot wait until that crown gets placed on your head, ___. You’re going to be the best queen that’s ever lived.” He backs up, sending you a wink. “If you need to know something, you know where to find me. Make sure you say all that to the nobles, will ya?”

With that, he spins on his heels, leaving the room with a swish of his coat. Albert looks like he’s in shock, staring at you, unable to move or respond. Nico takes one look at him and falls about with giggles, despite being stood right in front of Byron.

He tries to speak, to make some sort of comment or taunt, but it fails miserably when he’s hit by another round of howling laughs. Byron watches on, surprised by Nico’s laughter, while Tobias is chortling into his hand and Xander is suppressing a chuckle. You look up to the young monarch.

“Is Albert alright?” You ask quietly. This only spurs Nico into more hysterical laughter. Byron just sighs, murmuring,

“He’s fine. I’m not quite so certain about Nico, however. I suspect he may be suffocating himself with his own laughter.” He returns his gaze to you, smiling once again.

“However, I agree with what you said. You’re right, in that we shouldn’t separate ourselves from our people. I thought I was avoiding doing so by always paying attention to them and doing what I could to make them happy, but I never considered that aspect of it.”

You go to dispute him, since it’s a bit different in his situation, but he continues before you can say anything. “Thank you, ___. You never fail to show me new ways to see the world, and I’m grateful for that.”

A blush rises in your cheeks; you’re not used to him speaking so honestly and affectionately while someone else is in the room, let alone four other people. You decide to give up for now. “You’re welcome.”

The next hour or so is spent with the six of you going through all the information you have from Sid, Xander and Tobias, and you sort out what you’re going to do in terms of announcing the relationship publicly. By the time you’re done, dusk has already arrived, darkening the sky into a deep, inky ocean, starts scattered across it like diamonds.

When the papers are finally away and you’re ready to leave tomorrow, Xander and Tobias head back to their temporary rooms in the barracks, tired and worn out from sorting out the referendum and riding to Stein. You thank them both before they go, making sure they know how much it means to you.

“Of course. You know we just want you to be happy, ___. We’ll do anything to achieve that.” Xander replies lightly.

“I’m just glad to see you looking better and not borderline dead. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” Tobias finishes with a smirk.

Eventually, Byron dismisses Albert and Nico, telling them to go about their duties or relax. They do so, albeit Nico seems to catch on as to why, leaving you alone with Byron.

He sits down on the couch, bringing you with him by your hand. He tugs you down, a playful smile on his lips, and you land somewhat ungracefully on his lap. He seems pleased at your flushed cheeks and sound of surprise, watching you plant your hands on his shoulders, trying to sit up. He only tightens his arm around your middle, bringing you against his chest, faces inches apart.

“It appears I can finally have you all to myself.” He muses, his other hand settling on your thigh. The touch sends tingles of excitement and pleasure zipping up and down your spine, and for a moment it stunts your ability to respond, somewhat amazed by his even more confident, mischievous side.

“Byron?” You mumble, blinking at him. He hums lowly, eyelid fluttering closed, before he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, breathing in the beautiful smell of your skin. “You’re acting… different. What is it?”

He pauses momentarily, wondering himself. What is making him unable to stop touching you? What's driving him to hold you closer than ever, and to keep you in his arms until the very last minute? What’s making him so desperate for you to only be focused on him?

An image of Xander hugging you flashes through his mind. Another, of Tobias hugging you as well. Sid patting your shoulder.

_Ah. Is this what jealousy is?_

He recalls that pang of discomfort, that unpleasant sensation he felt seeing you so close to them all. He knows it’s ridiculous, and he realises that he’s never even felt jealousy prior to this. He thought it was just a natural response, perhaps from concern or protective instinct, but now he realises that aside from those feelings, it’s also a sense of possession.

He would never act overly so, and wouldn’t want to restrict you in any way just because of the feeling, of course. He just realises now that a large part of him wants you to only be his, and that he wants to be the one having you in his arms, touching you and loving you.

_Yet more emotions I’ve never known, and she’s unearthed them in me so quickly and strongly._

“Mine…” The arm around your waist lifts up, his fingers curling around your hair and moving it aside, exposing your throat to him completely. Your pulse thunders at the rich, deep sound of his voice, and at the uncharacteristically possessive way he caresses the word.

In a guilty-pleasure sort of way, you like it. It makes you realise all the more that he’s completely infatuated with only you, and that he loves you entirely, to the point of expressing it both physically and verbally.

_I wonder if he’s feeling jealous because Xander and Tobias hugged me. It would make sense._

His lips purse against your neck, sucking momentarily, and he feels your back arch toward him in response. A breathless sound of pleasure leaves you before you can stifle it, and he starts to kiss your flesh, more and more fingers sliding up your thigh through your trousers.

The other hand remains on the back of your head, fingers sifting through your hair, before he lightly uses the leverage to tip your head back. His mouth remains attached to your neck, lavishing with kisses and feathery bites. Your fingers grip his shoulder harder, and the feeling of them digging through his jacket practically has his insides melting.

“Mine. You’re all mine. You are my queen.” He mumbles, punctuating the statement with a deeper, yet still cautious bite to your shoulder, your scarf having been tugged off amidst his movements. Your muscles tighten, body temperature rising in response to the sudden mix of pain and pleasure.

“Byron-” His name almost slips through your lips in a passionate cry, but he quickly stifles it with a heated kiss, consuming the sound entirely.

He keeps you locked in his arms, so tightly that you can barely move, but you love it. You love the closeness; the desire he has to keep you there. You’ve never had it, and you want it so badly. Spurred on by your thoughts, you reach up to pull very lightly on his hair, something you know will rile him up even more. A sound close to a growl rumbles through him, sending zips of excitement up your spine.

You don’t want him to leave tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll be going home, and it’ll be a while before you can see him again. The next time will be the announcement of your relationship and engagement to him.

“Byron,” You manage to gasp out, feeling him catch your bottom lip between his teeth, applying just enough pressure to make you shudder. “Stay with me. Don’t go tonight. Please.”

He’s been waiting for you to say the words.

He lifts you up, locking you in another scorching kiss, his skin, muscles and insides practically melting. Carrying you over to the bed, he sets you down on it, draping himself over you. His fingers slip under your knee, moving it to the side, and you tremble as he lowers his torso to rest between your hips.

His lips descend on your stomach, teeth grazing over the space between your hip bones. You shiver, feeling his soft hair tickling across your skin with his movements. His arm curls under your back, lifting your body up to him, before he places his other hand on your left hip, pressing down and holding you still.

“Of course.” He breathes out, worshipping your body like the most sacred artefact. “From now on, we do not have to be apart. Stay with me. Remain in my arms and by my side, forever.”

Your pelvis trembles, hands finding his head and fingers brushing through his hair. “Always. I’m yours only, and you’re mine only, forever.” You manage to gasp out, legs gripping his middle harder, feeling him sucking and biting teasingly at the soft flesh of your stomach. “A-ah…”

He removes his lips for a moment, breathing hard, catching his breath. Your own chest rises and falls quickly, but now you gently move his head down, resting it atop your stomach while he regains the oxygen he needs.

He nuzzles into it, letting himself get lost in your warmth and scent, revelling in the knowledge that despite Xander and Tobias hugging you earlier, you only love him. You’ll only ever show him this side of you, as he’ll only show you this side of himself.

You stroke his hair tenderly, lovingly. He hums lowly, almost purring, the sound vibrating through you. “Things are going to get even busier now.” You murmur absently, staring up at the ceiling, before you turn to look out of the window. He stares out of it as well, still using your abdomen as a pillow, before he responds thoughtfully,

“Yes. But it will only be for a short while, up until the announcement, then eventually the wedding, assuming you’re still happy to go through with it.” You nod to this, no doubt in your heart now.

It’ll make things easier in the long run, and cause less problems for the people around you. You don’t think you’ll change in regards to your stance on children, but this, you don’t mind being flexible with.

Marrying him is something you’re more than willing to do, now that you understand why it’s necessary; if you don’t, it will cause uncertainty for the people of both Stein and Vinessia. It’ll make the bureaucrats restless and confrontational, and will reduce the legitimacy of your relationship. Getting it over and done with will ward off those problems before they even come to exist.

“I am. I’ve come to terms with why it’s better to, and the advantages outweigh the disadvantages by far. I won’t be giving up my position or my job any time soon, so as far as I’m concerned, marriage can only really make us stronger and less susceptible to problems. I don’t mind.” Satisfied with this, he nods back slowly, closing his eye.

His chest tightens, heart missing a few beats, while a wave of elation and relief runs through him. He didn’t want to have the wedding at all if you weren’t absolutely certain, but he can hear in your voice that you are. In an ideal world, you wouldn’t need to, but unfortunately that’s not the case. As such, he’s just glad that you’re as content as you can be with slightly less desirable circumstances.

“Thank you.” He presses a slow, long, loving kiss to the space above your naval, then another slightly higher up, the heat in him now a simmering flame, molten but controlled.

“My queen.” His eye opens briefly, but it closes again when he catches sight of the remnants of the bruising on your ribs, fading but still very much there. Shaking off the anger that comes with seeing it, he forces his thoughts to turn lighter, teasing, “My General.” Another kiss. You laugh gently, the sound quiet but beautiful in the silence. “My brave warrior.”

He moves up, so that he is hovering over you completely, face inches above your own. He rests his mouth against your forehead. “My soon-to-be fiancé.” He sees the shy smile on your lips, trying to show itself through your efforts to stifle it. He chuckles, mouth finally reaching yours, millimetres away. “My love. My wonderful ___.”

Your eyes are shining with tears by this point, heart aching at his sweet, honest words, and the love evident in his voice. You reach up to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his smooth skin, before you lean up to press your lips to his forehead. Your eyes drift closed, voice a mere whisper, uttering ever so softly,

“My king.” He can hardly suppress his shiver, feeling your mouth move down to his right temple, kissing tenderly. “My courageous warrior.” A smirk forms on his face at your twisting of his words. You have a talent for doing that.

His left temple is kissed next. He can’t stop the slight shudder now, skin and nerves prickling even at your simple touch. “ _My_ soon-to-be fiancé.” The way your voice caresses the last word, slipping into an accent he’s never heard you speak in before, makes his stomach clench pleasantly. You kiss the space between his eyebrows, “ _Min kjære_ _._ ”

He knows several languages, but due to Vinessia being cut off from the other nations for so long, and its native language – Norwegian – coming from a country far, far away from this region, he wasn’t able to learn it. Seeing him pause, staring down at you with a raised eyebrow, you grin. “It means my dear.”

A swell of love stirs inside him. He smiles just slightly, murmuring, “I think you should teach me more Norwegian. I’m eager to learn it.”

Your cheeks warm just a little, but you nod all the same, nudging your forehead against his. He leans down so that they’re still touching, but your head is against the pillow. You start to whisper tenderly in Norwegian, translating as you go, tone adoring and so gentle that it could be deadly. ” _Min elskede_. My beloved. _Min konge_. My king.”

Your lips hover over his now, and he can feel the warmth from your face, so close to his own. It takes all his willpower not to kiss you. “ _Jeg elsker deg, Byron._ _Jeg elsker deg så mye. Du er min verden. Du er mitt alt._ ” You release a shaking breath, breathing laboured with your pounding heart. “I love you, Byron. I love you so much. You are my world. You are my everything.”

Your lips crash against his. He locks you in his grip, returning the passion, body melting against you. He leaves no inch of your skin untouched, kissing every inch.

_I need her._

He’s soon bare before you, and there is little hesitation now, as you do the same yourself. There’s no fear like before, no worry and no shame. You feel loved and wanted and beautiful, and so does he. Your blades come off, and you don’t look at the scars anymore. You don’t care about them. His eyepatch is removed just as quickly, and he stares down at you with no vulnerability in his gaze, nothing but strength and love held in them.

_I need him._

Your gazes fixed with each other’s, he takes your hands and presses them down on either side of you. His forehead touches yours once more, and he slides the ring from your right hand’s ring finger smoothly, before then slipping it onto your left. Your fingers twine together, clasped tightly, embracing the one little thing that symbolises the future you’ll have together.

“I love you with all I am, Byron. You’re everything to me, along with Vinessia. I want to protect my home and Stein with you, together.” You whisper, holding his gaze steadily, words breathy with desire and emotion.

“And I love you with all that I am, ___. You are my life now, along with Stein. I will make you my queen, and we will become even stronger together, to protect our people.” He breathes back. Your eyes close.

_Tomorrow, we will announce our relationship and engagement to Stein. Tomorrow, I will leave this castle, and return to my own. In a month, I will marry Byron and become the Queen of Stein and Vinessia._

The fire inside you almost burns. It’s unbearable, but it’s irresistible. Your mind overflows with love, excitement and anticipation.

_I used to be afraid of that castle. I used to hate it. It was my prison._

You cry out for him, your sounds muffled by his lips. He calls your name like a prayer, chanting it, speaking it with love, adoration and worship.

_But now, I love that castle, as I love this one._

Tender touches, inaudible murmurs of love and endearment late into the night. You never separate from him, not once, not at all.

_Because now, these castles are my homes._


	18. Part XVIII | Final | King. Queen. Castle.

**†** **♛** **†**

You sleep deeply, fitfully, as does Byron.

In the morning, you both sneak into his bathroom together, and albeit shyly, you bathe with him, never leaving his arms as he washes your hair, cradling you tenderly and lovingly. Time seems to fly by while you dry yourself and get dressed in your white uniform again, then allow the maids to fix your hair up specially once more.

The nerves are back, but they’re more controllable now. You can breathe through them easily.

Byron enters your room after a while, when the maids have finished with you, dressed in his regal outfit. It’s white like yours, with dashes of midnight blue and black scattered throughout, and for a moment you can’t move. You glance at him over your shoulder, having been staring out of the window up until this point.

_He’s so beautiful._

His lip twitches up. “You seem surprised.”

Your cheeks flush at the teasing tone he speaks in. You clear your throat, forcing your eyes back to the window. “I’ve just… never seen you dressed in that before. You look beautiful.”

His eyes soften at your mumbled words, but he can still see your flushed skin from his position. Love swelling in him again, he steps up close to you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Thank you. You look more beautiful than ever, even stronger and more radiant than you always do.”

Your eyes drift closed as he drops his face into the crook of your neck and shoulder, nuzzling the area through your jacket and cape. “Thank you.” You listen to the sound of the breeze outside, and your voice is gentle as you ask, “Is it time?”

With a small sigh, he nods, not releasing you from his arms. “Yes.” He straightens up now, turning you around to pull you against him. He then rests his forehead against yours, murmuring, “Be careful on your way back. I know you can handle yourself, but I suspect that we will face considerable resistance for this. Be on your guard.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. You reach into the neck of your jacket, pulling out your whistle. His eye shines with happiness. “I will. If I need help, I’ll call for you, as long as you do the same.”

He makes a sound of satisfaction, taking his own whistle out. “Of course.” You both put them back, calm and content and ready to announce your engagement to the world. You have yet to make your statements in the other countries as to who you are, but this is going through now, to appease the international courts at least a bit. “Ready?”

“Ready.” He kisses your forehead softly, slow and deep, before withdrawing and sliding his fingers through yours.

You both walk through into his room, then to the balcony, which overlooks the crowd gathered for the announcement. Guards are ready and on alert, eyeing the people suspiciously, but most don’t even seem to notice them. A cheer rises from them as you both step up to the balcony, separating your hands before they’re visible. You give them a real, grateful smile, one that could break hearts in seconds, and they start to applaud, even louder and more energetically.

Eventually, Byron raises his hand, and they immediately fall into silence.

“I asked you all to come here today for a reason.” He starts, voice booming through the gardens and across the waiting faces, nobility and townspeople alike. “I asked you to come here to formally announce something that I am aware many of you have already assumed or suspected for some time.”

He turns to you, stood to his right. His heart is pounding for once, something he’s never experienced while making a speech, and so is yours. He takes your left hand, holding your fingers delicately, and your own close around his gently. You return the nod and squeeze lightly, indicating to him that you’re certain.

You both move right up to the balcony, allowing the people to see your hands joined together. Immediately, there’s a rumbling of excited or elated voices, but Byron speaks over them.

“General ___ and I have decided to join together in a political marriage. This is for many reasons, but the main ones I will tell you now. Firstly, the most obvious reason, is that it is a major advantage and strength to both Stein and Vinessia to join in a political marriage. By expanding our diplomatic relations like this, we are allowing ourselves to be open to more opportunity, and to expand in the ways of trade.

“We will be able to give and receive more. Our economies will be bolstered. Our security will be greatly enhanced and refined by sharing intelligence, henceforth making our nations safer.” His voice becomes even stronger now, no hesitation in it at all, as he looks out at his people.

“The second main reason is that I, Byron Wagner, love the woman stood beside me with all that I am. I have come to understand what it is to rule, even more than before, since meeting her, and she has done nothing but provide support for me even when it costed her greatly. She has showed me compassion and pure love for her own country as well as Stein. She has saved all of us, even indirectly, during the recent war.”

You’ve never felt so elated, honoured and loved in your life. You squeeze his hand again, harder, communicating your appreciation for his words. He smiles, still looking at the crowd, in such a way that you hear several gasps of surprise and amazement from the people. “I love her, and I wish to marry her. I want her to be my queen, not because of an obligation, but because I am choosing to do so.”

You take over now, almost seeming to glow with strength and compassion, words ringing out through the gardens. “And I feel exactly the same as Byron does. I love my own nation. I love Vinessia with all my heart and soul, and would do anything to protect it and my people, but I would do the same for the people of Stein. I’ve come to adore this nation in the short time I’ve had to experience it, and want nothing for it to flourish even more than it already has. I want to make its people happy, healthy and safe, alongside Vinessia.”

You let out a breath, feeling slightly nervous at saying something so bold, but you push through it and speak. You glance at Byron, seeing his soft, loving smile, and his encouraging gaze. You meet the eyes of the crowd, announcing,

“Despite everything I’ve experienced in my life, and despite how a mere year ago I was certain that I wouldn’t be able to look a king in the eye again without remembering my suffering, King Byron has changed that. He’s opened my eyes, has allowed me to see past years of torture and view the world without the bias that I did before.”

Byron can barely contain himself, chest tightening, muscles clenching and warming from your words. The desire to take you into his arms is almost unbearable, but he manages to push it back. He squeezes your fingers, and you carry on, finishing.

“I’ve come to love him with all that I am, because he’s made me happy even when I thought I had no allies away from home, and because he has supported me as well, even when it’s been costly to him. I want to spend my life with him, to be happy, and to work with him to make Stein greater than it already is. I want to rid Vinessia of the dark past it has, bringing it into a new era, one without bloodshed, one that I will be able to leave the earth and be proud of.”

You fall silent for a long few moments, eyes touching on every face you can see. Your lips are graced with a beatific, enchanting smile, gaze softer than ever before. “That is, if you will accept me as your queen, and give me the opportunity to do this.”

There’s a beat of fleeting silence, and then the cheers erupt from the crowd, supportive and elated. Despite all odds, you’ve gotten through to them. You’ve persuaded them to give you a chance to prove yourself. They’re willing to open up their throne to you.

A breathy, gasped laugh spills over your lips, eyes taking on a very thin shine. The cheers become louder. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” You manage to say, loud enough to be heard at least by the frontmost members of the crowd. “I’ll do everything in my power to make everyone safe and happy.”

“Long live the general!” Someone shouts, and then you hear them call again, hollering, “Long live the queen!”

“Long live King Byron, and long live Queen ___!”

“Long live Queen ___!”

Soon, the mantra is being chanted over and over again, the voices of Stein calling out to the both of you in support and adoration. Byron grins, the rare sight taking your breath away once more.

Then, he uses his hold on your hand to tug you close to him, sliding his arm around your waist. Your skin immediately flushes with blood as you fall against him, but your sound of surprise is lost to the cheers as they become louder once more. You hear several shouts encouraging a kiss, and you stare up at Byron with wide eyes.

“You’re not seriously-” His mischievous smirk silences your protest, telling you you’re dead wrong. You feel your heart stutter, and he watches on, releasing your hand to cup your cheek.

“I would hope you’d know me enough to understand that I’m absolutely serious, at least about you.” He feels the tremor run through you at his words, and he leans down, fingers cradling the back of your head. “My queen.”

Your blush worsens, but you find yourself grinning back at him, insides flipping with nerves and excitement. “Yeah, I know.” Your hands find his chest and rest there, the crowd waiting on anxiously all but forgotten. “My king.”

Your eyes close. He closes his own, pressing a soft but passionate kiss to your lips. Shouts and cheers, as well as several whistles, you notice, sound from the people below, and you realise absently that this is the first time anyone’s ever seen you act this way, other than Byron. It’s both oddly embarrassing but exciting and thrilling, and you don’t feel the discomfort you thought you would.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to touch his forehead against yours, and your eyes open with his single one. You share an intensely loving look, one that feels like it could last for a short eternity, before he runs his mouth down the bridge of your nose, whispering in a sultry purr, “Finally, I can have you all to myself.”

You catch your lip between your teeth, trying not to shout in exclamation at his less than appropriate comment. Instead, you move your mouth up to his ear, whispering, “And you can finally be all mine now.”

A low, rumbled laugh escapes him. “Indeed.”

You both separate at the same time, but your hands clasp together once more, giving your final wave and smiles to the crowd. Finally, when you realise that they aren’t going to stop, Byron tugs you back into his room, hiding you both from them once more.

Your heart won’t stop hammering at your ribs, and neither will his. In an attempt to stop yourself from pouncing on him and losing your self-control, you exhale slowly, suggesting, “We should probably go downstairs. Xander and Tobias will be eager to get going, and the people at home will be restless.”

Seeing the restraint in your eyes, he nods. “We should. I imagine your people are missing you considerably; they have yet to see you since the war.”

You sigh quietly, walking out of his room with him. He doesn’t release your hand, and you don’t consider doing it yourself. The corridors are for the most part empty as you go through, but the odd maids or patrolling knights give you bright, beaming smiles or respectful grins, bowing and curtseying. You nod back, smiling in return, and Byron finds himself synchronising his expression with yours to do the same. When it’s empty again, you speak, musing thoughtfully,

“Yes. I still haven’t seen my mother once, since I was little, either. I want to see her, to explain why I haven’t yet.” You frown just a little, walking down the main stairs into the entrance, where you can see many of the nobles stood around, expressions varied. “Even though it’s been years since I last saw her, I miss her. I want her to understand what happened, and I want to ask her to forgive me, for not coming to visit her.”

“___,” He counters softly. “She is your mother. She will understand that there is nothing to forgive. You haven’t had much choice, and made decisions to spare her harm, despite the consequences they had for you both.”

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, he sends you a sideward glance, lip twitching up at the side. “Perhaps I will be able to meet her, as well, and thank her for bringing you into the world.”

Your cheeks warm slightly, but your response is cut short as a noble steps forward, one you’re unfamiliar with. To the side, near him, stands another man that you don’t know at first.

But then fragments of memories start to return, piece by piece. You stare at him for a brief second, his face shifting and twisting, mind attempting to find a match.

_Who on earth…_

“King Byron, General ___, congratulations on your engagement. I believe this marriage will be extremely productive for Stein, in both the short and long term, if we are to utilise our new democratic relationship wisely. I wish you both the best.” The noble who has stepped forward speaks.

His hair is sharply cut, chocolate brown and rich in colour, with icy blue eyes. Pale skin is decorated with a mole under his right eyebrow, and his dark clothes, obviously expensive and fine, immediately tell you that he’s of significant power. His voice is monotonous, almost sounding bored, yet at the same time doesn’t. It’s rather odd.

Byron nods, and you notice that you’re still holding hands. Almost as if feeling your momentary concern, he squeezes your fingers soothingly, responding, “Thank you, Archduke Harneit. I appreciate your support and approval.” He turns to you, introducing, “This is Archduke Rayvis Harneit. He is the Archduke of Stein.”

_That name seems familiar, somehow…_

Regardless, that’s all you need to know. You nod in understanding, slipping your fingers from his to bow respectfully, before you then stand and speak in a calm voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Archduke Harneit. I would also like to express my thanks for your support and approval of our engagement. Thank you very much.”

He merely nods, turning back to another noble as he starts to speak, also expressing his congratulations. You accept them gratefully, briefly looking over at the other man again, the one you almost definitely can recognise.

_I know him. That face… if it wasn’t so hidden…_

You imagine the ashy brown hair moved out of the way, exposing his whole face. Almost immediately, your mind clicks, finding its match. For a brief second, you see him change, see the regal clothes sweeping around him in place of his green coat and less expensive garments. His eyes aren’t as burdened in this moment, and you can see his hair, swept back to reveal unforgettable features.

You can barely stifle a gasp.

_Robert Branche. The former king of Bergenia._

Your gaze snaps to Rayvis for a fraction of a second.

_I know Rayvis’ name. He was from Bergenia, too. I remember now; Stefan spoke of him, when he taught me the names of significant nobles from there who escaped the collapse of the country._

Byron turns to him now, sensing your change in mood and feeling your hesitation. Robert sends him a warm, friendly grin, and you see Byron’s eye widen just a little.

_They know each other?_

Confusion sweeps through you, but Byron quickly wipes his expression, glancing down at you. “Come. Let’s not keep Xander and Tobias waiting any longer.”

Taking your hand again, albeit gently, he guides you out, leading you to the front doors. Exiting and heading toward the stables, you hear Nico and Albert catch up, covering you both from behind. That doesn’t stop your instincts from sending a bolt of unease down your spine, though.

“Byron,” You whisper, barely able to be heard. “Did you know him?”

Realising that this could be a considerable problem, he massages your thumb gently, murmuring back, “Yes. Now isn’t the time to explain it all. Trust me when I say that he is not a threat to us. I will explain everything the next time I see you, I swear it. For now, I would ask that you remain quiet about this. It’s a complex situation.”

Your insides twist, uncomfortable by nature with leaving it unanswered, but you know that you need to just have faith in him. Biting back your recoiling thoughts and instinctual responses, you nod. “Okay.”

He squeezes your hand again. “I will tell you everything, just not now. I didn’t think he would come today. I should have warned you.”

You shake your head now, calmer and more settled by his reassurance. “It’s fine. I understand; you didn’t realise. I can wait.”

You arrive at the stables now, and Xander is waiting with your horse, his own on his other side. Tobias mounts his as soon as he sees you. Both of them pause, though, taking you in for a moment, and you don’t fail to notice the pain in their eyes in the slightest.

_I’m sorry, you two. I know this must hurt._

Byron comes to a gradual halt a little bit away, turning to you. He brings your hands up to his mouth, kissing each knuckle briefly, through your gloves. You still feel the warmth, though, despite the wind, and smile slightly. He returns it, lowering them once more. “Be careful, and stay safe. I will see you in a few weeks, for the wedding preparations.”

It gives you a nervously excited flutter in your stomach to hear him say that, but you nod regardless, feeling the ring around your third finger like a reminder of his promise to you. “I will. I’ll see you then; stay safe as well.”

“I will.”

He embraces you just once more, hugging you against his chest and etching your warmth into his mind. You do the same, remembering the feeling of his arms around you, never wanting to forget it in the slightest.

And then you are pulling away, approaching your horse, ignoring the tugging in your heart begging you to return to him. You pat her nose and side, then climb up and onto her back cautiously, still mindful of your wound; it’s healed enough to cope with the ride, but you’re still gentle with it.

Your cape settles around you, blindingly white against the black of Xander and Tobias’ uniforms, but the strength and will in you is clear as day. Byron smiles, satisfied that you’ll be safe with the twins, before he turns toward the gates.

“Open the gates! The general and her knights will be returning to Vinessia!” He calls over, the knights at the gates heaving them open in response. You nod to him, holding the reins, and he gives it back. “You can ride out on your own, now; Albert needs not escort you. I will see you soon.”

“Of course. Until then, King Byron.”

Before you can throw yourself back into his arms, you’re off, riding through the gates and down the bridge, then out of of the castle grounds. Xander and Tobias ride with your, the pounding of your horses’ hooves creating a drum between you all, a rhythmic sound rumbling through the ground. You pay attention to your side, making sure to stay still so as to not stress, it, but it doesn’t protest to the movements of the ride.

Through the town, people wave and cheer as you ride through, calling and shouting praise or words of pride to you. You smile as you go, making eye contact when you can, until you eventually reach the forest.

It’s quiet between the three of you, but it’s comfortable. It’s like it was before, just the three of you as friends, despite their feelings for you. You’re getting past it together, and are mending the cracks that have formed together. You’re no weaker than you ever were.

“___,” Xander eventually says from your right, drawing your attention. You glance over at him, making sure you don’t lose focus of your riding. He grins. “I’m proud of you. No, I’m so, so proud of you. You just keep amazing me, and I’m glad you’re finally happy. Thank you, for doing what we asked of you. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this free of worry when it comes to you. I can see that you’re finally where you should be.”

“Yep, I gotta admit, you do look happier than you’ve been in a long time. I ain’t trusting Byron, not at all, because you’re my ___. I’ll always be overprotective of you, but I haven’t seen you smile and laugh this much, this openly, in my life. I know this is the right choice for you. Thanks, for finally doing something we’ve asked you to do.” Tobias adds, his voice teasing at the end.

Your heart feels like it can finally relax, safe in the knowledge that they’re healing. They’re happy, because you’re happy. They’re moving on, but you’re not losing them.

“Thank you, both of you, for everything. It’s only because of you two that I’m even alive, and you know I’ll never be able to repay you for that. Thank you, for being here for me.” You respond, words soft and almost lost in the wind, but they’re enough to bring out huge smiles from them both.

Tobias winks, and Xander shakes his head, but you can see the twinkle in his eyes. They both speak at the same time, as in-sync as ever, even on horseback.

“You’re welcome, ___.”

Not too long later, you cross over into Vinessia. You feel it inside you, that change, that shift of your body crying out in relief. It’s home. It’s where it knows it’s safe and where it grew up.

You want to go and see every part of it again, climb all the mountains and cross the tundra, explore the forests and swim in all the lakes. You want to experience everything again, because everything feels new now. You’ve brushed death for what should be the last time until you truly leave this world, and it feels like you’re free now. The chains holding you back are gone, and you can do anything you want to do.

You glance up at the sky through the canopy of trees overhead. It must be nearly dinnertime. “Guys?” You ask, drawing their gazes to you. “Can we stop for a bit? I just want to look around. It’s… been a while since I’ve been home. I just want to take a few minutes before we get back to the castle.”

Tobias glances at Xander, his twin doing the same. The latter looks up as well, purses his lips, then shrugs. “We’ve got time. It should be fine; choose where you want to go.”

_I know where I want to go._

You nod, lips lifting in a gentle smile. “Thank you.”

You take off to the east, able to orient yourself without even thinking. You know exactly where you are, and exactly how to get to where you want to be. The trees and vegetation rush past you in a lush green blur, the smells of the forest blurring and shifting around you, filling your senses in a beautiful, familiar haze. Your horse throws her head up, whinnying excitedly, as she does every time you get close to home. Grinning, you spur her on faster, knowing you’re close.

Soon, you bring her to a gentle stop among the trees. She huffs under you, eager to run more, and you chuckle before sliding off her back, then unclipping your cape and tucking it into the empty side of the satchel on her saddle.

Even though you’d love to be with Byron right now, you realise how much you love Vinessia as well, and how it won’t be as torturous as you thought to be away from him; here is where you’re needed, and where you should be. It’ll only make seeing him more special when it happens.

“Good girl,” You coo, stroking her nose lovingly. “Only a little while longer, and then we’ll be home. Promise.”

You pluck an apple from the other side of the satchel, offering it to her. She takes it and practically wolfs it down, and you snort, glad to be away from anyone judgemental like the Steiner nobility, so that you can be completely yourself again. “Yeah. I feel like that sometimes as well. We’re scary when we’re hungry.”

Patting her side, you wander off, although it’s not exactly wandering since you know where you are. You take your gloves off, letting your bare fingers graze over the bark of the trees, feeling them, embracing the nature around you. You watch the wind move the leaves gently, making them sway and dance to the breeze. Smiling to yourself, you rest your forehead against the trunk of a large tree next to you, inhaling the smells around you and getting lost in them.

_I spent a lot of time in the woods over the years. It’s become a second home, now. I love being here. I feel safe, and at peace._

Pushing off from the tree, you venture further in, only to pause a few seconds later. You crouch down silently, eyes shining, sparkling like gems. The sun peeks through the trees, dipping toward the horizon, and it lights up your hair and features with a heavenly, fiery glow. You rest your elbow on your knee, warmth settling and pooling in your stomach.

A deer grazes a little bit away from you, moving slowly, majestically. It’s a doe, you observe silently. She hasn’t yet detected your scent or presence, so you simply stay still, staring at her in amazement. She’s breathtaking.

_No one hunts in this area. It’s all protected. Perhaps she’s more trusting of humans than others, and does know I’m here._

Her head snaps to where you sit all of a sudden, but you remain where you are, poised and still, unthreatening and crouched low. She doesn’t move an inch, frozen in place. You keep blinking, making sure not to do anything which could be perceived as threatening. She watches you back, eyes deep, beautifully brown and unreadable.

Finally, she makes a decision, bolting to the side sharply. You stare after her, content, as she disappears into the trees, blurring out of sight with elegant speed.

_Mother nature is a force like no other._

Standing up, you continue on forward. You’re almost there.

When you break through the trees, you’re met with the lake that connects to the river, the one you jumped into to escape. It was here that you drowned, and were brought back by Xander and Tobias.

Smiling fondly, you go over to the water’s edge, seeing the silhouette of the mountains around you in the glare of the sun. Conscious of getting your clothes dirty, you crouch down again, sitting at the bank. You dip your hand in the water, feeling the gentle swirl of the water washing around your skin. You sigh to yourself, a rush of calm overwhelming you.

_To think, such a morbid place would become one of my favourite parts of Vinessia._

You laugh wryly at your thoughts, staring down at the water. You can see your reflection in it, and you tilt your head to the side, watching the ornaments the maids decorated it with glint and shine in the sunlight.

_I’m different to before. Not just physically, but… mentally. Emotionally. Maybe even spiritually. I’ve finally found my home. I didn’t feel like I had one before._

You recall how, prior to this, it was very rare for you to be smiling when you sat by the lake. You wouldn’t always be unhappy, of course, but… that didn’t mean you were happy.

_Before, I was stricken with guilt, rage, grief, frustration, sorrow, confusion… now, all of that is gone. I’m happy. I love who I am, and what I am. I love the life I’m living, and life I will lead until I die. I have hope, that I will become a better person._

You nod to yourself, almost confirming your own thoughts.

“Is she okay?” Tobias’ quiet voice breaks you from your isolation, and you know they’re watching you from the trees. With your sensitive hearing, it’s impossible to not hear them and listen to them. Another smile graces your lips.

“Yeah. Leave her be; she’s adjusting herself, synchronising and acclimatising to being back in Vinessia again. She’s done it a few times, but you weren’t with us at the time; you were still laying low. It’s normal.” Xander brushes him off, tone almost nostalgic. Tobias makes a sound of acknowledgement.

_There’s something I need to do. Something I should have done a long time ago._

Your eyes lift, drifting up to the trees on your eastern side. Through them, you can just make out the silhouette of the castle. The town is under it, of course.

And in town is your mother. You haven’t seen her since the day you were taken from her.

Your heart aches, heavy again with loss and guilt.

_I want to see her._

A lump forms in your throat.

_I probably have no right to, but I want to see her, even just once, even if she hates what I’ve become._

The idea makes you feel physically sick, but you force it back, pushing yourself to your feet.

_I want my mother. I want a chance at having one. I deserve that much, don’t I?_

“Xander, Tobias.” Your voice murmurs out from you, soft but loud enough to be heard. They approach you from behind, waiting for instruction. “I want to see my mother.”

You can practically see them both going still with shock.

“Are you sure? You’ve been so hesitant about it-” Xander immediately says, sounding concerned, but you interrupt him gently, eyes on the castle.

“Xander, I want to have a chance at having a mother. I’ve lived for nearly two decades without one. I want to see her.” You turn to them both, giving them a sincere, genuine look of desperation. “Please.”

For a few long seconds, they simply watch, still surprised.

Then, Tobias sighs, dropping a hand on your head. “You know we’d never stop you, ___. C’mon. Time for a family reunion.”

 **†** **♛** **†**

You stand outside your house, the one you’ve walked past many a time, but never dared to go near for fear of being the death of the person inside.

Xander and Tobias flank you, waiting patiently, monitoring you in silence. You’re beyond nervous, in a way that’s almost worse than how you were with Byron. This is the only living family member you have left. She’s the one person who’s related to you by blood that you know of, and she’s your mother. You don’t feel like she’ll harbour any negative feelings toward you, but you can’t shake the fear that she just might.

“___,” Xander says softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. “It’ll be fine. She loves you; we’ve spoken to her so often when we’ve checked up on her, and she’s desperate to see you. She’s nothing but proud of you.”

Tobias does the same on your other side, his hand settling atop your cape. “Seriously, go and see her. If you don’t, you might end up regretting it.”

_I know. I’m just running from fear, for once in my life._

“I know.” Your murmur is gentle, but the nerves are easy to hear.

Xander sighs out a laugh, giving your shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Go on. We’ll be outside.”

_Just get on with it. The faster I go for it, the faster whatever happens will happen._

Letting out a sharp breath, you move out from under their hands. “Thank you.” Nodding without looking at them, you make your way forward, the dusk sky blazing around you like a wildfire. You stop at the front door, knocking very lightly.

_This is it._

The lump returns. You inhale deeply.

_Please don’t hate me._

The lock turns, unclasping quietly. Your pulse thunders in your ears.

Finally, the door opens. It’s like everything freezes in place for a long, few, precious seconds.

_Her hair… I remember it. It’s longer than before, and greying, but it’s still beautiful. Her eyes are just the same, although they’re harbouring more pain than they did then. She looks stronger than before._

Her lips part, shock plain on her face. You open your own mouth, barely able to speak above a whisper, your words formal despite this being the woman who gave you life. “Hello, mother.”

As soon as she moves, she starts to sob. She lurches forward, throwing her arms around you, crushing you in a vice-like grip. So many memories flash before your eyes, only very murky and brief, but they’re there. You remember her hold, her smell, her loving aura. You remember it all.

“My ___,” She wails, words catching in her throat through the tears. “My baby. My beautiful girl. Thank God, you’re alive, and you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you, hoping you’d come back to me. Thank you so much. Thank you for letting me see you.”

You start to shake, your own tears forming quickly. You hug her back, burying your face in her shoulder. “I-I’m sorry… I… wasn’t sure if I’d survive and I didn’t want to you to see me, and then-”

“I know, sweetie. Oh, you beautiful girl, I know. Xander and Tobias told my why you did it. I know how much you were hurting, and yet you decided to keep me safe despite it. Thank you, for thinking of me. To just know that I was in your thoughts makes me so happy, sweetie.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to fight back the sob in your throat. “M-Mum.” She kisses your forehead, then your cheeks, before curling her arms around you again, protecting and nurturing, just like back then. Her hand strokes over your hair. “Mama…”

She all but drags you inside, and you collapse to the floor with her, almost drowning in tears.

_She loves me. She cares. She wants me to be her daughter. She can see through all the bloodshed._

She cries with you, rocking you both back and forth, trying to soothe you even though she’s in just as much of a state as you. You cry into her shoulder, calling her name, desperate for the love and attention you’ve been deprived of. She says your name over and over again, like she’s trying to make up for the years you’ve been separated.

“M-Mama… I missed- you… so much…” You gasp out, half choking on the words. She breaks out into fresh, almost painful-sounding cries, tears running down her face and into your hair.

“I missed you too, honey… I missed you every… every day. Not a moment went by without me wondering… wondering where you were, if you were safe. I prayed, wished and hoped, begging the stars to keep you safe and alive. I wished that you’d return to me one day…” She finally pulls back to look you in the eye, smoothing her thumbs over your cheeks, then brushing your hair back.

“And they did. Bless them, they brought you back to me. I’ll never be able to thank them, and you, enough. You’re a miracle, baby. You’re a godsend to everyone in this country.”

It’s praise, but it sets more tears loose.

You don’t stop crying for a long, long time, but she doesn’t mind at all.

 **†** **♛** **†**

It’s well past midnight when Xander and Tobias, now inside, tell you that you should return to the castle. Despite them understanding you wanting to stay, they remind you that you’re the queen now, and that the people are looking for a symbol of strength and hope, stationed permanently in the castle.

You’ve talked to your mother about everything. Your whole life, under Stefan and on your own, then with Xander and Tobias, all the way up until the past few months. She listens like a man hearing for the first time, absorbing every single word, cuddling you against her side in front of the fire. You cling onto her the whole time, and she does the same with you; arms wrapped around you, hand in your hair, smoothing through the strands with so much love that it should be impossible.

She tells you about everything that happened to her, as well. She tells you of how Lena treated her wound and saved her life, then had Xander and Tobias watch over her, keeping your family safe before they even met you, once they were old enough. She tells you of how she hid from Stefan, although he was aware of her survival, and how he tried to disgrace her to set an example.

None of the townspeople believed nor cared for his words, though. He wasted his breath every time.

You stand at the door, ready to leave, and she cups your cheeks tenderly. “I can’t believe this is real. It feels like a dream, to have my baby back and finally be able to see her.” She kisses your forehead again, then rests her own against it, asking, “Are you sure you’ll be alright going back to the castle this late? Make sure you’re careful, won’t you?”

Xander chuckles quietly. Tobias snorts.

She blinks, confused, before a laugh of her own escapes. “Right. I’m talking to the living legend and immortal Queen of Vinessia. I don’t think I need to say things like that, do I?”

You shake your head immediately, placing your hands over hers. “No, no, I don’t mind. I… I don’t mind at all. It’s… nice. I’m sick of those two saying it, but I don’t remotely mind you doing it.”

Ignoring the offended gasps from the boys, she lets out a peal of giggles. “Well then, I’ll be as over-bearing and annoying as a mother as possible. I have a long time to catch up on.”

She kisses your nose, standing up straight, but she doesn’t move her hands. “God. Look at you. You’ve already done so much more than most people will in their lives, and you’re not even twenty. That reminds me; I’m coming to see you on your birthday. I’ll steal you away from the whole town if I have to.”

You laugh now, warmth and love exploding within you. “That’s more than okay. I’ll come and see you as often as I can, I promise. Things are going to be busy, with the engagement and everything, but I’ll make time.”

She squeals, the sound shocking you and making you jump, as well as the boys. She cackles at your identical expressions. “Sorry. I got excited. My daughter’s getting married, and I’ll be able to come and see it! Are you sure it’ll be alright?”

You nod, patting her hands. “I’m sure. I don’t see any reason why they wouldn’t let you, and to be honest, I’d raise hell if they tried.” She grins, pulling you in for a last, tight hug. You embrace her just as hard, etching the moment in your mind, thinking that this is what having a mother is like. This is what you should’ve had all this time. “I love you, mama.”

She laughs breathlessly, and you can see the adoration in her eyes when she looks down at you. “I love you too, baby, so, so much. Keep calling me mama, will you? If you start calling me by my name, I think I’ll pass out.”

You have to laugh as well, nodding and withdrawing, albeit reluctantly. “I will. I’ll come and see you, okay? Or you can come to the castle; anyone’s welcome there now.”

She nods fiercely, pride burning in her eyes. “Of course I will. Go on, honey, get some sleep and run the country. Keep being a miracle. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” You give her a wave, and Xander opens the door, doing the same.

“Goodnight.” He says, slipping outside. Tobias grins.

“G’night! We’ll take good care of her, don’t worry.” He assures her, stepping out with you.

“You’d better, mister! Otherwise, I’ll be taking it up with your mother!” She calls after him. He shudders next to you.

You start to walk back to the castle, the town still and silent around you. You can hear the odd animal here and there, birds or foxes, dogs and cats, but otherwise it’s empty. It’s comfortable, though; nothing is said and nothing needs to be said.

Your happiness is written all over your face, and in your eyes, and that’s more than enough for them.

And soon, you come up on the castle, the place that was your prison for fourteen years. You feel no fear now. The memories are fading, replaced with new, wonderful ones, of victory and pride and happiness. There’s no trepidation, no hesitation, in your steps, as you walk across the bridge.

Now, you walk as a new, modern breed of royalty. Stefan was right; he always said you’d end up on the throne, whether you wanted it or not.

_Yeah, Stefan. You did win._

You smile to yourself, feeling the ring around your finger, remembering the promise of the life you’re going to have, with the man you love and the people you care about.

_But I won, too. Now, I belong. I’m free, and so are my people. I’ve undone your bloodline of hatred and tyranny, and have dragged this nation from the vicious cycle it was in. You wanted that too, so we both won._

The guards grin at you, swinging open the doors. You step inside.

“Welcome home, General ___.”

You simply smile at them, heading for the stairs, steps echoing across the tiled floor. “ _Jeg er hjem._ ”

_I’m home._


End file.
